


In Love and In War

by Martienne



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martienne/pseuds/Martienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Battle buddies, mission partners, and best friends: Agent York and Agent North of Project Freelancer find their bond of friendship easily transitions into something more despite the policy against fraternization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Borne of an RP and expanded into a narrative, the following authors have contributed to this fic:  
> [texelations](http://texelations.tumblr.com) (North)  
> [theneuroticmuse](http://theneuroticmuse.tumblr.com) (York)  
> [topsecretgirly](http://topsecretgirly.tumblr.com) (South)  
> [summonerskies](http://summonerskies.tumblr.com) (Carolina)  
> 

Whoever designed this door and lock is a jackass.

"Come on,” York says. “It'll only be for like—thirty seconds. Forty at the most."

Most locks are where he can reach them. Most. Not this one though. It's higher than he can reach, and he’s got no choice—he’s forced to ask North for a boost.

North looks up at it. "I'm not saying no,” he says, “I'm just saying you'll need to find a way to make up for it later." Freelancers trade favors all the time and sometimes it’s fun to hold something silly over someone else's head. That's the main reason North's posturing about this. As if something like a little piggy-back ride would make him insecure.

"Fine, I'll owe you one." York knows he really should be more specific as to what the 'one' will be, because Freelancers are tricky, semantics-arguing bastards that look for loopholes in everything—but he's more focused about the op than he is on any payback he'll owe.

“So long as we’re clear.” North turns and gestures to York to climb on his back.

At least the armor comes with footholds and handholds, York thinks. Climbing up North's back is easy. Balancing to reach the lock? A little less so.

"Hey, whoa," North exclaims as York's weight shifts suddenly. "Make sure you're balanced before you go reaching up there."

"I am, just—" Okay, he needs to adjust how he's braced against North's shoulders—he's got this. "Hold still."

"I'm not the one moving around." Still, North makes sure his arms are firmly hooked around York's lower legs, armor bracing against armor.

"You are so moving—or the lock is moving." The lock better not be moving. York hooks a foot against one of North's arms to better brace himself, stretching to get to work. "There we go." He braces a hand on North's shoulder to hop down, landing light. York ducks down, shotgun braced against his shoulder, and lets North take point. "We clear?"

"We're clear," North replies. The two of them move in, heading for the interior, heading for the objective. For once, everything goes smoothly—the two of them make a good team and the fact that they’re able to get inside without alerting any guards or tripping any alarms means they’re early for extraction. Niner picks them up at the LZ and soon after they’re ushered in for the debriefing. As always the leader board is the first focus of the session—in this case, the rankings don’t change as a result of their work. Everything was a success, but nothing particularly outstanding occurred.

After that their first destination, as always, is the locker room. Things are routine—they stop at their lockers, strip off their armor, and grab towels once they reach the vestibule of the shower room. North can't help taking this opportunity to rib York a bit for their earlier escapade. "You need a boost to reach the shower controls, York?"

York can roll with it. "If you don't mind bending over for me, baby,” he says. It's not _his_ fault—seriously, who the fuck put the controls all the way up there? Also it's hard...not to use innuendo in the showers, when he's stripped down and almost naked to get the mission funk off.

North grins, adjusting his shower head before turning the water on. "One favor at a time."

"That wouldn't be a favor, North, that'd be a gift." York finishes peeling off his under suit and strides over to the shower, managing to turn the water on just fine all on his own.

There's not a shred of privacy in these showers and if there's one thing all the Freelancers have seen, it's every inch of one another's bodies. "If you're gifted at it," North says. "Because I don't think you're referring to your dick size."

"We can't all be hung like a horse, man!" York replies. Not that he spends much time comparing. Dicks are dicks. You see one you've seen most of them. "Besides—it's not the size, it's how you use it."

North grins. "True." He tilts his head back to rinse the shampoo out of his hair before continuing. "Practice makes perfect, right?"

"You implying that I need practice?" York won't turn any down, not ever, well. Maybe. Depends on who's offering to help him practice.

"Mm, well, you know,” North says. “That should really be 'practice makes better,' shouldn't it?"

"Practice makes permanent,” York says. “The more you practice a certain way, the more it's muscle memory. Doesn't matter if it's the right way or the wrong way or the best way, it's the way you're used to doin’ it." He utters a low groan. Oh, bless hot showers after missions. He lets his head fall forward against the tile, steaming streams pounding down his back and shoulders.

"Unless you find yourself a good teacher." North is himself lingering longer than a standard military shower would call for; that's one thing to thank the Director for, that they don't have those showers that shut themselves off after a particular time limit.

"You think I need a little extra teaching? Is that what you're saying?"

North grins. "You keep putting words in my mouth. Besides, any good teacher worth his salt will run an assessment first."

"Well, I'd put something else in your mouth if you weren't so damn tall." Is that a smirk? That's a smirk.

North just keeps the same amused expression on his face as he finishes rinsing and shuts the water off. "There are ways of compensating for that, you know."

"I guess I could climb you like a tree." Not many handholds though. Not that it stops York from shutting off the water and taking a few idle steps in North's direction.

North's never been one for hook-ups. But this is York. They're close, and they spend a lot of time in tight quarters as it is. He tilts his head ever-so-slightly before answering. "We'd have to find a suitable classroom." His way of saying, no, the locker rooms don't suffice.

Teammates are usually off limits in York's head. But it's North. And North's—safe in a way most flings aren't. North gets him, covers him on the field, and most importantly: Won't make it weird afterward. If North’s down? He's down. "Private tutoring session in my bunk? There are some forms I'm fuzzy on."

North can't believe he's agreeing to this. Especially with the ridiculous metaphor they're using. But hey, he hasn't had a good release in a while that didn't involve his own hand. "I'll be there."

And after he gets done cleaning up, after brushing his teeth and dressing and stopping by at his room, he heads down there, to York’s quarters. He tests the door without knocking, figuring that he's expected.

It’s been fifteen minutes and York's already shirtless. They're just gonna strip down again soon enough, why get all covered up? He is a fan of efficiency. He's sprawled out on the bed, having been flicking through a holosim of a lock while he waited.

He smiles. "Are you ever not punctual, Andrew?"

"It's probably happened." When, though, North couldn't say. He lets the door fall closed behind him and goes ahead and locks it.

"One sec—" York shuts off the sim after completing the puzzle, setting it down in time for the finishing animation to play. “Am I good or am I good?

North moves to stand next to the bed. "You're good." He looks at York for a moment before he sets a hand on York's shoulder and smooths it down to the upper arm. He spent the walk here convincing himself it's all right to go for this, and he’s decided that the best way to do that is to jump right in.

"That's what I thought." God, those hands are big. And warm. And big. York will never not get a kick out of how tall and broad North is, even outside the suits. He leans into North’s hand easily, one of his own sliding over to rest on his stomach under his shirt, thumb rubbing little circles into his skin. "You're overdressed."

North moves to sit on the bed next to York, setting a knee down on the edge of the mattress and sliding forward. "You know the cure for that, I hope." He lets his hand continue to trail down York's arm as he moves. Does he look uncertain? He probably at least looks kind of serious, a contrast to their joking in the showers.

"Mm-hmm." For a moment York’s happy just to feel the solid weight of North against his hand before he starts finessing North’s shirt up, tugging at the hem and letting his hands drag along his ribs. There's just so much of him, goddamn. Only Maine's bigger and broader but it’s a diffrent kind of build. "Hey—" He leans up enough to nip at Andrew's jaw. "It's just me, man. You're not being graded here."

North’s only response is a small rumble from his throat, a sound of acknowledgment, as he moves his hand from York's arm to his waist. It's really not that he's unsure or that he's reluctant. It's just a change from the way things have always been and it's unusual for North to make a snap decision like this to engage in something more. But why shouldn't it be this way? It's really more organic than dating would be. They’re close, they finish each other's sentences, they help each other think things through.

Yeah. This is the way it should be. Whether it pans out to be something more...that can be discussed later.

So his hand slides further around York's back, playing along York's spine, and he brings his other hand to York's face, smears his thumb along the corner of York's mouth, grips York's chin, and presses in, his mouth meeting York's lips; it's all about York now, touching him and feeling his heat and the roughness of his stubble; North moves his hand along the smooth skin of the crook of York's neck, the rise of his collarbone, the firm muscle at his shoulder. The press of his lips doesn't let up, and he shifts his hips just slightly in order to press closer, a simple flexing of his thighs, inclining his head a little more to angle their mouths just so, and when his hand gets to its final destination he crushes his mouth against York's more firmly.

North is bigger, a lot bigger than York’s usual dudes. Usually he spends so much time around military minds-bodies-hands-jargon-everything that a break is nice when he falls into bed with someone on leave. Curvy women that won't kick his ass as soon as look at him and guys a little on the skinny side. But this—this is a whole lot to appreciate. Doubly so because it's North. It's Andrew. Someone he's known and trusted to have his back, that he would take a bullet for and has in the past, that's taken hits for him. If he can trust someone with his life he sure as hell can trust them with this and it's—it's a little strange that North went from kind of uncertain to having his hands all over him, feeling him out. If only because that's usually what York does. Focuses on his partner. Finds what makes them tick, makes them twitch and sigh. Finesses out orgasms like picking locks. So to have all that focus on him has him going loose and letting go. Clinging a little and—following North's lead. He seems to have an idea of what he's doing. Why not follow?

The hand on York’s neck gets a solid shiver, a huffed out half twist of a laugh against North’s lips as he squirms a little. Dressed. They're both still far, far too dressed but he finds it's kind of hard to mind that with North leaning over him like this and gradually bearing him down. Always the quiet ones, isn't it? "Shirt,” he murmurs, nipping at North's bottom lip. "Off?"

North hums in response to York's chuckle. "Yeah." He pulls back just slightly so York can handle that, helping out when it comes to pulling his arms out of the sleeves. He's sensitive to the fact that York is giving in to him and he smiles slightly, bending his head so he can trace his tongue around the shell of York's ear, and drags his fingertips along the base of York's neck to his collarbone.

Shirt off and York's a happy camper. It's one thing to see a guy naked. Another entirely to see them naked and know he gets to touch all that. Or lick it. Or bite—is North down with biting? The nip went over well but some guys don't like it so much and—

That stream of thought cut off abruptly as North's hand moves up and his lips move over and oh god damn him his ears. He'd forgotten those were a thing for him but they sure are a thing and maybe if he wants to get to practice anything he should be more proactive. Or he could hook his arms around North's shoulders and squirm until he's got a leg hooked around his waist for leverage and roll against him. That. That's the plan, that's what he does.

When North realizes what York's up to he moves his hand to the other man's shoulder to leverage him up to his destination. The movement of York's hips against his is welcome; North's attention is diverted by the sensation and with that he knows what he wants the outcome of this to be—that friction feels too damn good. Unfortunately he doesn't have much room in this position to reciprocate, so he keeps that roving hand moving, going from York's shoulder to the front of his waistband and nudging a gap in with his fingers. He pulls back to look York in the face to gauge his reaction, and palms the head of his cock inside his pants, moving his thumb to trace the frenulum.

It is a little mortifying for York, not being able to reach as much of North at once as easily as he'd like, but the hand helps and the grind is fucking amazing. He shudders against North's torso, hand catching and curling in his hair to cling and tease at his scalp. Find those little switches most people have. He'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about what North would be like in bed. He's only human and there's a lot to be curious about. He hadn't expected him to be this aggressive. Not that he'd thought he'd be shy. Not that York’s complaining. He twists and arches into the hand rolling over his skin like a cat, pressing back or up whenever it hit's a particularly delicious stretch of skin and then—

"Ohfuck—" York’s head falls back and his face goes slack as his hips snap forward into North’s hand, and North wraps his hand around his cock.

It's nice, York's hand in his hair like that, and North's pleased by York's reaction to his touch, no question. He lets out a hum. It's an unfortunate reality that they'll have to disentangle themselves to get undressed but for now; oh, for now. For now North's going to bring his hand to the base of York's cock and press it against his own through their clothing. It's hard to move his hips but he manages it, manages to rub the line of his shaft against York's..

York drags his nails through North's hair to see what other noises he can tug out. Vocal partners are fun and he's always kind of wondered what North would sound like when he's not quite so put together. Though he's pretty sure he's the one that's going to get taken apart. "Goddamn your hands are fucking amazing,” he says. It's not fair. His hands should be. He's the locksmith. But that touch, that grind steals any other teasing whine he might have and replaces it with a low groan. Pants. Pants should come off. But later.

North squeezes with the hand that's resting on York's waist, his breath catching, his jaw slack. The fact that it's something he's doing to himself doesn't diminish how good it feels. What York's doing doesn't hurt either and he tips his head just slightly into York's touch. "You want—?" he starts to ask, and interrupts himself with another glide against York's cock, eyes closing. Now that he's somehow found the leverage to that pull off he finds he can't stop himself from continuing to repeat the movement, once and again. A low hum of approval rumbles from his throat.

"Yes. Yes? Yes. I want." No details because fuck details York wants everything. This is good. This is fucking amazing. North is fucking amazing why haven't they done this sooner? He feels like they should have done this sooner. They could have been doing this for months. Managing the leverage to both grind against North and roll into his hand and haul him down into a kiss takes a bit of doing but hey, he's always appreciated a challenge. But that groan has to taste as good as it sounds and there's no easy teasing anymore. No dry press and drag just his mouth and his teeth tugging on North's bottom lip, tip of his tongue gliding along after to soothe the bite. More. He wants more, he wants everything and it's not fucking fair how big North's hands are, goddammit. "Pants. Pants off."

North sighs through his nose and slowly withdraws his hand, dragging his fingers up York's shaft as he does so, and wipes a smear of precum from his thumb onto York's stomach. In order to fulfill York's request he's going to have to stand and he lets York clamber down off his lap before he does just that. "Hey," he says, reaching forward and tugging York to himself again. Another kiss would be appreciated, thank you, before pulling off the rest of their clothes.

Reservations, York decides, are for people that lack conviction. He curls his arms tight around North's shoulders and kisses him hard, like he's trying to climb into his mouth and stay there. North lets York take the lead on the kiss, lets him control the pressure and the depth as their mouths meet. In fact, he decides  to let him control the length too. As soon as York gets his fill, that's when North reaches for York's waistband and hooks his fingers inside to push the fabric down.

One of York’s hands drops from around North's shoulders when he leans back to breathe, trailing along his back, side, and settling at his hip, thumb rolling across the seam of his—what. "...Andrew." He smirks a little even as he twists to help with getting out of his own sweats—nothing on underneath. Seriously, why bother, clothes take time, but the most important thing is this: "Are these tear-away?"

North smirks, bends his head to go back for York's ear. "Yup."

"So I could just..." He falls back on his heels from where he'd been leaning up into the kiss, hands sliding down and back to get a good grip on Andrew's ass. "Rip these off. Right now? Was I gonna get a striptease too before I jumped the gun?"

North chuffs out a little laugh, shaking his head. "Go for it."

"I've always wanted to do this—" York leans up again to give North a quick kiss before stepping back and tearing those pants off with a snap. "Olé!"

Of course it isn't as simple as all that, as the pants get caught between North’s legs, but it was the thought that counted, and he can't help laughing. "Watch my balls, man." He shoves the fabric down so the pants will fall away.

"Sorry, shit. Okay, rip-away pants are _not_ like the tablecloth trick." Which York can totally do, by the way. Still. Pants gone and there's just skin. A whole lot of skin. "...goddamn you're huge."

"I thought you weren't into comparing," North teases, taking a step to join him.

"This isn't comparing, Drew. It's admiring." He slips a hand down to cup the aforementioned balls, giving a light squeeze. "Affectionate admiration, even."

North wraps an arm around York's shoulders. Their size difference is too great to do this standing up; too bad. It would have been fun. In response to York's fondling he lets out another low hum and smooths his other hand down York's hip to his ass, kneading his fingers into the flesh.

"So...bed?” York suggests. “Or I can make good on the 'climb you like a tree' thing." He could. He would. He will. Later, right now this is just about perfect, pressed up against the broad, pale mass that is Andrew and idly rocking his hips against him, forward into skin, backward into that hand. This—this he could do for a while, happily.

"Bed sounds good to me." North pauses just long enough to press a kiss to York's hairline before releasing him. "You first," he adds.

"Mkay." He leans forward enough to drop a kiss to whatever skin's closest to him. Shoulder? Chest. Nipple. Nipple kiss, that's what he goes with because he's ridiculous, before stepping back and flopping down on his bed. There's no graceful seduction here, there doesn't need to be. It's them. So he can be ridiculous and prop himself up on his elbows and leer up at Andrew without feeling the need to be overly smooth.

North chuckles and watches York lie down. "Looking at something?" he asks, crawling up over him. After he's in the right position he drops his hips so that the lengths of their cocks are aligned right alongside one another, so that their scrotums are comfortably resting against each other, and breathes out a satisfied sigh. Moving will come soon but for now it's nice just to have flesh touching flesh.

"Looking at you," York says. There's just so much to look at, really. Shoulders, hands, jaw—he's seen North naked plenty. Showers and locker rooms and soldiers and all that. The fact that it's happening in his bed puts a whole new light on everything. Calloused fingers slide up North's arms to curl around his shoulders, nails teasing at his scalp again. North's covering him like a blanket and that reinforces how big the other guy is, how warm. York's head falls back with a low groan once they're slotted neatly together. Wanting more than just contact he tries to rock his hips up for friction and—

Can't.

That shouldn't be as arousing as it is.

He tries again but it's not really happening and that earns a low, petulant whine.

"Problems?" North teases.

"Can't move," York says. His nails twitch against North's scalp as that sinks in. He can't move. He might be the better fighter but North's got mass and reach on him and like this? North's stronger. That shouldn't shoot straight to his cock the way that it does, having him try and fail one more time just to test before North makes the move in his own damn time to get the grind going but what it does to his breath is—woah. "Jesus christ, Drew—"

It's all about friction and heat for North, and just feeling that pleasantly hard mass of flesh against his—and those nails on his scalp, that's nice too. His breath catches in his throat and he looks down at this man, his best friend save his sister, and takes in the sight of him, how the look on his face tells North that he's enjoying every second of it; letting his eyes lock with York's, he speeds the motion of his hips, and he shudders out another breath before pressing in for a kiss.

York presses up as hard as he can to get more friction, more heat. Pulls down with the arms around his shoulders and lets his mouth fall open to let North in. Feels like he's a teenager again, how wound up North has him because he's huge and he's _North_ and this is safe in a way fucking around on leave never really is. There's trust here that makes the limited range of motion just that much more hot, has him that much more wound up and clinging.

North plays his tongue against York's, keeping the rhythm of his movements steady, feeling the buildup of heat in his groin that happens before release, letting his breathing quicken into rapid puffs; he's mostly been concentrating on York's pleasure, but now he lets himself give into the sensations, his eyes closed, and that's when a series of grunts comes out, expressing his excitement.

Leverage on York’s end is limited up till he manages between one stuttered grind and the next to get a leg out and around North's hips and that? That gives him plenty to rock back up just as hard and just as fast, instinct and muscle memory taking over. Catching his breath becomes hard enough that he has to lean away and let his head fall back. Shallow gasping doesn't do much other than give him breath enough to grunt and moan. Soon, fucking soon "c'mon, c'mon, c'mon—"

North takes that as a cue to subtly increase the pressure and snap of his thrusts. They're not aligned quite the same now, though, since York moved. North lifts a hand from the mattress to slip it between them and wrap his hand around them both, gripping to increase the friction between their cocks as they slide against each other.

"Jesus christ—" York thought he'd be able to hold on a little longer, drag it out but then—fuck, North's hand. His fucking huge hand. He can feel the calluses that line up with the grip of the gloves, the grip of a gun, the hilt of a knife and they drag and stroke and catch along every bundle of nerves. Tugs and twists something deep in the pit of his stomach and he's arching. Clinging. Gasping through the tipping point as he spills between them. North keeps moving, even though York is shuddering beneath him, smearing York's semen between them with one finger and then letting that lubricate their skin. It adds a whole new dimension to the feelings and North is once again grunting through the work of it, hoping to reach that edge before York's completely done.

New kinks get York off quick. He'll apologize when he can catch his breath but it's hard and North's still going and he wants to help but isn't much use at all for a few seconds. Still a puddle of post orgasmic bliss. As soon as he can, though, he starts nudging at North's shoulder. "Move—lemme— Come on just roll over—"

North lets his movements die off in response to York's words and opens his eyes. York gets one last stroke from North's hand before he lowers himself to the bed and rolls onto his back. "I knew you wouldn't leave me hanging," he says.

"Course not." York swings a leg over North's and straddles him, leaning down for a quick kiss. "Hands or mouth?" Either's good. Either's awesome, actually, but it's North's call.

"Mn." North sighs as he relaxes back. "Hands, maybe."

"Hands it is." Both of them, even. One rough palm rests along the shaft as York curls his fingers around, stroking North slowly from root to tip, the pad of his thumb rolling across the slit.

That's just a delicious sensation for North, slick and sticky as he still is, and he lets his head tip back as he closes his eyes. A hand goes to caress York's head, thumbing at his ear, since it seemed to be a place York had enjoyed being touched earlier.

Of course just because York’s got two hands on North doesn't mean he's going to go quick—oh hell, no. Now he's got the sense of mind to really watch every shudder and twitch and pick him apart like tumblers on a lock. Finesse it out of him. It may or may not be payback for not letting him set the pace earlier—he'll never tell. Every stroke is slow and measured, twisting a little at the top, heel of his hand grinding down against the base of his cock, fingertips teasing at the sensitive skin just under the head. North's hand comes up and he shivers, turning enough to kiss his palm. He can't exactly pin North's hips the same way North pinned him (not as big, duh) but he can ease up a little just to be an ass. A playful ass, a skilled ass, but still. A jackass. "What, now you wanna go fast?"

"Mmh." North gives York a look, heavy-lidded, cupping York's ear with his hand and rubbing it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. "I was pretty close before we stopped, you know."

"Fair." York picks the speed up just a hair more—North might be huge and steady but York's got absolute control over his hands. Benefits of picking locks. Doesn't even have to pay much attention as he turns enough to catch North's fingers with his teeth and drag his tongue across the pad.

North’s breath catches in his throat—York sure does seem to enjoy having North's hand on his head. He drags his fingers down York's jaw to his lips—surely he understands the symbolism of North playing his fingers into his mouth.

Oh, York takes the hint. Not before sucking on Norths' fingers for awhile, and swallowing them, gag reflex that should have been nothing more than a vague shudder as his lips meet North's knuckles. He gives him that good show before pulling off with a wet pop. Licking his lips he leans over, one hand still idly stroking North's cock while he presses a kiss to his shoulder, bites at his chest and works his way down.

After one last bite to North's hipbone York quits fucking around and licks a long line from the base of North's cock to the tip, tongue swirling across the head for a moment. He only teases North for a little while longer before working the head into his mouth and sucking properly, hand pumping what he hasn't gotten to with his mouth yet.

That's a full-body shiver that courses through North’s body and he cups York's head with his hand—with both hands. Grunting lightly for each stroke of York's hand, feeling the heat building as he nears his climax, he lets his head fall back and to one side. "Taylor..."

"Mmmmm-hmmm?" Humming around North is probably cheating, but, hey, he's never played fair. Besides he wants to see him come. Wants to crack him open and pick him apart and every dirty trick in the book is not too dirty for him right now. He speeds up, dipping lower with every passing suck, taking in as much as he can.

But nothing further needs to be said because York's doing pretty much exactly what North could have asked for. He grunts again, shifting in place, and feels himself tensing as relief courses through him with a broken moan.

There it is. Better than he'd thought it’d be as North spills bitter and hot down his throat. York swallows it all, pulling up to breathe and to mouth him clean. No reason to get them both all sticky. He sits back on his heels for a moment, hands rubbing up and down North's thighs just to watch him. "God. Damn. You look good."

North curls an arm under his head and lets his breath come back to him. Any response to that seems trite, so instead he reaches his hand out and sets it on one of York's. "Come here."

"Seriously. Real good." York’s been around a little—well not on the ship who has _time_ on the ship but in general and no one quite rocked the post-orgasm glow quite like North. York slides up and tips forward, laying on top of North much like North had for him earlier. "Really sexy," he adds.

North sighs and wraps an arm around York's shoulders. "You like what you see, huh?" he asks lazily.

"Mm-hmm." York leans down, dropping a kiss to North's shoulder. He's always been touchy before, during, and after. Can't help it. He's tactile, he has to reach out and touch and poke and prod and pet and there's just so _much_ of North to do that to and/or with so it's...beyond him to ignore the opportunity when it presents itself. "It also got me wondering why we haven't done this before."

North looks up at York. "I don't know, there's just that line, you know? Crossing it's a matter of being willing to bring up the possibility even if the outcome is bad. And that's kind of scary. You wouldn't want to lose a good friend over it."

"...I guess I was worried about whether or not you'd respect me in the morning." Because York can't take even something like this completely seriously. Some of the sting he hopes to sooth over by nuzzling North's jaw and it's just—nice. This is nice.

He could get used to it.

"You're still my best friend on this ship and my favorite sniper,” York says. “I wouldn't be against doing this again some time. If you aren't."

Oh. North keeps quiet, traces a circle on York's cheek with a finger, and smooths his hand down York's shoulder. He's not sure if he wants this to be something more in the sphere of boyfriends or not. It's just kind of disquieting that York's immediate instinct was to clarify that he expects to stay just friends—still best friends, but friends.

Well, thing is, he's not surprised.

So, North realizes, he has a choice. He can agree, and things will remain pretty much as they've always been, just with the chance for some nice sex now and then. Or he can bring it up and make it awkward.

He hates awkward.

"Don't know what my skills as a sniper have to do with it" is what he ends up saying, letting a teasing note enter his tone. Yeah, that was good, right? Play it off, and if there's going to be a let down in his emotions he can deal with that later on his own. Right now he doesn't know how to feel. There are other factors he’d like to talk about too—the fact that he hasn’t had something this casual since he was a teen, for one thing, or the fact that this was his first ever time with a man—but the uncertainty made that feel inappropriate.

For York it was less of a risk to frame it like this. Not entirely brave or fair to leave it all up to North, but at this point it kind of is. He'd not thought about doing more. Okay, he has, but he's a stupid sap sometimes and it'll get him shot one day, but he doesn't know how to articulate that. It's not in his lexicon. So he leans down and rests his cheek on North's shoulder, breathing slow and easy and comfortable and goddamn wouldn't this be nice to have every day?

It really. Really would. And he wants it. He's just too chickenshit to ask for it.

Especially since he's not in the habit of really getting what he wants.

"Means I can trust you to keep an eye out for the both of us," York says. Is there more than one meaning to that? Yeah. Yeah there is. One of his hands snakes up to pet through North's hair, curling in the blond strands. "Keep me from getting caught or getting hurt."

Getting hurt? Wasn't that an interesting thing to say? But once again North decides not to address it. "Yeah, of course," he says. He catches one last deep breath, lets it out in a sigh. It's relaxing, this blissful cooling-down time, and North's just glad he doesn't have to worry about there being some kind of friends-with-benefits protocol that says they should get up and get dressed right away or something, because if there was York wouldn't care about it.

Yes, he sighs and he...well, he's just going to set his hand on York's back and rub a little bit. And then he's going to smooth down the back of York's hair and scrabble his nails a bit in the short hair at the back of his neck. All idle touches, perhaps less intimate than he'd been engaging in earlier.

Hint given, York thinks, and...maybe not taken in the spirit it was meant, but the idle contact doesn’t stop and that? That’s reason enough to settle back and let go.  The point stands.  He trusts North to watch him on the field, he can trust him off of it just as much. They’ve been unofficial partners on their ops and friends since they met, more or less.  It feels like the natural step to take if they ignored regulation entirely. Which they kind of are. No reason to kick him out. They can stay like this a little while longer.  

That’s all that’s on his mind when he drifts off finally.  A little longer.  Just a little longer. He’ll worry about the details in the morning.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Nights right after a mission are usually a little rough for York. Every moment where something could have gone wrong or any little fuckup sticks out in his head. He doesn't show it, of course, no one expects him to be anything but chill and on top of shit, but he does worry. The alarm is something that jars him out of the first snatches of sleep he's gotten. But this time? He wakes up a little before the alarm and...isn't miserable. He's slept the whole night through easily, deeply. There's this comfortable sated weight to his bones that has him stretching and nuzzling into the pillow.

That's too warm and too firm to be a pillow.

It's North.

…So that wasn't a dream. Okay. Okay. Play it cool. He slowly props himself up to peer at North's face, gauging if he's awake or not.

The movement of his bed partner is what disturbs North out of his slumber and he sighs with a little shift of his weight. His arm's asleep. He opens his eyes, knowing the bulk that's pressed against him is York's body, and he gives his shoulder a little wiggle. "Can you...?"

"Mm? Oh. Sure." York sits up and shifts so he's not lying half on North and—play it cool. It's fine. Don't stare at the awesomely naked man. It's hard to not, though, and he stops trying to not in favor of poking at North's leg with his foot. "You should get dressed and head to the mess first. I'll hang back for a bit."

North sits up, rubbing at the pins and needles in his arm with his other hand. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that's a good idea." Not that it wouldn't be pretty simple for people to figure it out if there were fraternization among Freelancers, but it was best to do what they could to avoid being blatant about it.

He looks over at York for an instant. If this were a romantic relationship North would have leaned in and teased a kiss out of him, but that wasn't what they had going on here. York had made it clear enough that it wasn't his intention to have that kind of thing with North. So he glances, just the briefest of glances, at York's mouth before he turns away and gets up.

York blinks. Was that a 'kiss me now' look? It looked like a 'kiss me now' look. But. On Andrew. That he's still learning to read in this regard and if he wanted something he would have said something, right? Right. He'd left a big ole window open and everything and...didn't seem like it. He's not the kind of person to push so this is probably what it is.

And that's fine. To have just a little more with his friend and some really hot memories to hang onto after.

"You sleep all right?" He wasn't too heavy, right? Right.

North smiles gently with a breath of a chuckle. "Well. Bed's not exactly built for two." Especially two exceptionally muscled men, one of whom is pretty tall. "But yes, it was okay."

"Me too. Best sleep I've had since leave." Since the last round of knocking around with a guy but this was better cuz it was...North. Not examining that thought at all. York flashes North a smile and shrugs, combing a hand through his hair. "I'll see if I can't do something about the mattress."

In case this becomes a thing.

Could it be a thing? He'd like it to be a thing.

North laughs, bending to get his pants off the floor. "Sure, fill out a requisition form for a new bed." They only had so many resources on a ship like this.

"Weelll I could. I dunno. Double up on mattress fluff? Get extra pillows and do a mattress topper? I could figure something out." He would! Will, now, just to spite North.

"Good luck with that." North shoots York a smile and starts doing up the snaps on his pants. That's good. Teasing, yes, that's very good. Get rid of some of this weird post-coital awkwardness.

"I'll talk to Niner,” York says. “Usually that's how I get shit. It's where the booze from poker night comes from." Everyone pays Niner for a few extra bits of comfort. Woman is rolling in cash.

"I think it's easier to smuggle a few bottles than it would be a mattress." North turns the pants over and starts snapping up the other leg. "It was more the size than anything, anyway. And that's something you can't do anything about, considering the size of our rooms."

"...Okay that's true. Is your bed any longer or do you have to put up with it being too short?" He'd never asked. He's never really hung out in North's room. They hang together everywhere else, he figured it was a safe place away from his obnoxious ass. Why ruin that?

"It's only a little too short." North shrugs. "You get used to it." Time to slip his pants on and reach for his shirt. He shoves his arms through and gets up once he's fully dressed.

New project, York thinks: Get North a bed that's long enough. There might be room. Maybe. He'll poke around until he can get something sorted. But he'll make it work! One way or another. He's not going to think too hard on why it's important.

North nods over to the side table. "You left your thing running."

York looks—a new holosim lock puzzle is displayed on the screen with a time approaching eight hours showing on the clock. "Wha—shit!" He reaches over to shut it off. That'll...be hard to explain. Sort of. "...I’ll be fine. I'll just say it glitched. They do that sometimes. Damn shame."

North smirks. "It’s still your fault that got left on.”

"Leave me my delusions of competence." York snorts, reaching over to nudge North's shoulder.

North laughs. "What kind of battle buddy would I be if I did that?" Pushing each other to excellence, that's what it all about. In more ways than one, now, it seemed.

"Hey, I'm always competent in the field,” York says. Off the field, not so much. He didn't have to be. "But sure, give me shit. See if I ask Niner for the good stuff again."

"You know you will." Doing otherwise would only punish himself and aggravate a bunch of other Freelancers besides.

"...yeah I will. The last time I brought rotgut Reggie cleaned me out,” York says. “And took my clothes."

North heads to the door. "That had nothing to do with the alcohol you brought," he laughs.

"I do not have a bad pokerface." York’s a solid player! Really! Most of the time. "I'll hang back for ten, meet you in the mess?" They always ate together. It'd be weird for that to change.

"Yeah," North says, then leaves.

He got a full tray once he'd arrived at the mess and sat down at their usual table. In the end things hadn't turned out too awkward between them that morning, but he still had that lingering feeling of something being incomplete. It was the first time he'd ever entered into this kind of arrangement, even with the more casual way he'd treated his love life as a teen. Since then he'd become more serious about relationships, and this kind of entanglement was something he'd never considered engaging in. He'd never felt it inappropriate to give his lover a goodbye kiss. But that's not really what they were, was it? Lover was the wrong word.

In the meantime York sits and waits and stares at his door. Ten minutes. It's not that long but it feels like it now that he’s got time to think it over. What he's done. What they've done. His impulse control has always been pretty shit and he'd think he'd have learn by now to not. There's been a few rules he'd stuck to. None of the other Freelancers. That was a rule and he'd just...broken it in a spectacular fashion.

But he can't find it in him to regret it. It's—more than a fling and less than dating. They can't date. It's North. And North seemed all right with how things were. Take what you can get and be happy for it. When the time comes he wanders out, waving and flirting with the usual lineup of personnel in a bid for more food. Sometimes it works. Soon enough he's sliding in across from North like he belongs there. ‘Cause he does. "Hey, you."

"'Morning," North says, because of course this is the first they're seeing of each other today, right? Right.

"Sleep well after the mission?" Because he hadn't already asked that. Or know the answer. Totally didn't pass out on top of North last night.

The truth was North had taken a while to fall asleep because he wasn't used to being in close quarters like that, nor was he used to being unable to roll over should he wish. But he couldn't say any of that. So he just poked his fork into a strip of French toast. "Mm, yeah, good."

Awkward, York thought. This is getting awkward. How has he forgotten to talk to North over the course of one night? Magic. Or. Something. Jesus. "The mission went pretty well, though. Wasn't too wired after."

A beat.

"Think Florida's gonna arrange a game in a few days? We're about due."

North smiles. "Glutton for punishment, that's what you are."

"I need to earn back my honor! And my money." York’s not quite skint but he's close.

"No one's going to go easy on you,” North says. “I hope you know that." Actually, they'd probably do the opposite. Especially Reggie. The two of them just had that kind of rivalry.

"I know they won't,” York says. “But this time I'm gonna play sober. And liquor everyone else up. You too, bud, sorry." Not that it'll work. Everyone else will notice the not drinking and pour him shots till he follows suit.

Okay, this is getting easier, North thinks. Talk about the poker and talk about how ridiculous the notion is that York will be able to bluff. "I'm just fine getting drunk to play," he teases. Then he laughs a little with a smirk. "Watch Connie get her way this time about the strip poker." He glances down at his food and then back at York, still huffing out a little laugh. It's good to tease him, good to let things get back to normal.

"After how things went last time?” York asks. “I think she might." Oh, god. Everyone naked. North naked. He has to blink the mental image of North spread out on his bed coming down from that post coital high away, otherwise he won't get anything done for the rest of. Forever. French Toast! French toast and bacon. And sausage on North's tray he'll try to sneak a little away. Also normal. "Watch her wipe the floor with all of us. It'll be ridiculous."

North nonchalantly swipes his knife behind the place where York has stabbed the sausage to leave half of it lying on his plate. "She would. She always does." Not that he's all that shabby either. If they did play strip poker... Well, North would be seeing a lot more of York than vice versa.

"I just need to stay in and up long enough to get Reggie drunk enough to bet his mustache and have him lose," York says. That's the goal. That is a _dream_ of his. He'll get it done. It'll take cheating but he'll get it done. After that he can lose all his clothes happily.

North laughs, that good-natured chuckle of his. "Good luck with that one. I don't know what kind of persuasion it would take to get him to make that bet."

"Gin. Good gin. Lots of it." York may have spoken to Niner a few days ago. Maybe. That stolen sausage gets popped into his mouth and wrapped around a wide grin. "He'll never know what hit him."

North looks at York, amused. "I've got fifty that says it'll never happen."

No. Nope. York do not say the dumb thing. York keep your mouth shut. York do not—

York does.

York leans forward and pitches his voice low, grin taking a slightly lecherous bent. "Bet your ass and I might take the wager."

Holy shit, he did not. This is—this is officially off the rails. Off the rails in the best way, but off the rails nonetheless. North's smile become slightly incredulous, his jaw dropping just slightly, before he gets a handle on it and sticks a hand out. "You're on."

Yep. Yep he did. This is the worst thing ever and York will regret it but until that day? Gonna enjoy this. Going to enjoy the _fuck_ out of it. Besides, this way? He wins even if he loses. York snakes a hand out to shake North's, crackling a laugh. "Al; right then. Guess I better win."

North tips his head with a cocky gesture, still grinning. "You won't." He withdraws his hand and keeps his eyes on York while he picks his fork back up. That's when he glances down again, takes one of the final bites of his meal, sopping up some syrup before popping it in his mouth with another smug look back York's way.

"I will." York leans back—as much as he'd like to hook his ankle around North's they're not like that. Publicly. He's plenty tactile but he usually only does shit like that when he's been drinking.

Since he's sober he'll just. Reach over and flick at North's nose while trying to steal his coffee. Just to be an ass.

North scoffs out a laugh and grabs for York's wrist. "Thin ice, man."

"What?” York says. “It's a tax. A 'not believing in your friend' tax." Not that he tries to pull his wrist away. No reason to spill good coffee.

"Yeah, sure." North lets go. "I'm sure you want that real bad." Considering the lack of sugar and the presence of powdered creamer.

"Course I do,” York says. It's the principle of the matter! He even manages to take a sip without making a face. His hand, however, twitches. That's enough of a tell. "How do you _drink_ it like this?"

"Watch," North says. And he takes the cup back and takes a drink. A nice swallow, since the coffee is cooled to a comfortable temperature.

York does manage to make a face now to cover up how he's not really watching North drink so much as he's watching the bob of his adam's apple. And fighting the urge to lean over and bite it.

Fuck. They shouldn't have screwed around. Now he can't get those sounds out of his head.

"You. You are some kind of messed up, you know that?” York says. “It's the flavor of _hate_ , North."

"You know what they say, hate and love are pretty close to the same thing," North replies.

"Nah, I've never wanted to screw around with someone I hated." Hatefucking is a thing, but not a thing York gets. Or engages in.

Yes, have a very subtle raising of the eyebrow there, York. That seems like a pretty direct allusion to what they'd just done and what the hell, man. Did he forget about the thing where fraternization was frowned upon or had he ceased to care sometime after sending North out of his room? But for now it's best to pass it off and he lets that smile come back, wrapping his other hand around the cup. "Tastes pretty good to me."

It's ass o’clock in the morning, York thinks. No one else is really paying attention—also it's a hypothetical screwing around. Though the actual screwing around did occur. It's York being York. Which would be more obvious if he wasn't still a little—look the man has a _throat_ on him okay? It's distracting. How did he never _know_ it was distracting? "Hate. Little mug of hate."

"I'd say something about how I drink the blood of my enemies, but..." North takes another swallow. "This seems to be enough to bother you."

"The blood of your enemies is black coffee. It's hate." York snorts, going back to his own black, sugary goodness.

North chuckles before swallowing back the last of it. "Weight room this morning. You still spotting?"

"Yep." Oh. Oh, hell. Sweaty North. It's never been a _thing_ but now he's seen it and liked it and this is going to be fun and by fun he means awful. "Long as you return the favor."

North's mind is starting to linger more on the daily routines of it all and he's relieved for that. Maybe other images will come to mind later but he'll take that as it comes. "Of course,” he says. “Same as always."

All of this is the same as always, York thinks. Yes. Nothing new or different. At all. Everything's fine. "You ready?" He is. Just—get through the day, get over it, tomorrow will be better because he's not asking North back to his room again tonight. That way lies madness.

"When you are." North’s coffee cup is deposited back on his tray and he rises with it to return it to the tray return. "Change and meet you in ten?"

"Sounds good." Stand up—all right, good. Tray, good, coffee, good, naked North aw man no bad bad he manages a smirk and a shrug and heads over to deposit his tray, scuttles out of the mess and. Does not think about North naked.

Or the ass he'd bet on.

No. Nope.

Okay he does and it's awesome but he doesn't let it distract him from scrubbing up and getting changed and being where he needs to be to meet North about eight point five minutes later.

North changes into a fresh set of workout clothes, washes his face, and heads on back to the weight room, ready to take on the day. Things tend to be non-stop here in Freelancer and it's better to get your dailies taken care of as quick as you can so you can have some free time.

When he enters the room he gives York a little nod and heads right for the weight bench.

Right, York thinks. Just gonna spot for North like he does every day. It's fine. He shakes the lingering memory of last night out of his head and goes about the usual count. Focuses on the weights and the reps and not what North looks like. Not important. Not at all.

For North's part, the rhythm and the repetition of motion makes it easy to clear his mind and soon their tryst is the furthest thing from his mind. "I think I want to go with another twenty pounds for the next set," North says, grabbing the nearby towel to sop the sweat that has begun to bead on his forehead and his neck.

By the time they really get into it York’s able to push it out of his head. Fall into the usual routine and grab those extra weights for North without saying much. For all his chatter York doesn't give a lot of shit in the weight-room—well. Not to people he likes anyway. It's an extension of his job, spotting, and is taken seriously. As seriously as he can manage. "Take a breather, grab some water."

Water, yeah. North takes a good-sized drink before continuing with his workout and soon enough it's his turn to spot. He stands and sops up his sweat with the towel again.

"Same weight as I had it on or do you want to start out somewhere else?" he asks.

"Gimme thirty less? Gotta warm up." After that York'll up it and do a set and up it and do a set and see how he feels then. Once the weights are adjusted he settles down and grabs the bar, nodding to North to show he's ready. Then he can't spare a thought for how either of them looked or were because it's all lift and press and lift and press, puffing out slow breaths to steady himself.

The aspect of normalcy was what North appreciated. Let his thoughts linger on what had happened later. Spotting was mindless and easy, and it was easy to keep his mind blank while York's workout went on.

He'd spotted for York he didn't know how many times in the past. It was who he'd partnered up with more often than not, lately, even more than with his sister. It spoke to the dynamic they'd developed, an easy friendship that had grown between them since the Project had begun. The kind of banter they'd engaged in that morning was the same as what happened on missions, in training, even in the locker room. So what had happened after yesterday's mission wasn't that unusual—it wasn't like he and York had never joked that way before. It was just the first time he'd been goaded into actually acting on it.Not that York had tried all that hard to convince North he meant what he was saying.

North had never really considered his sexuality before, beyond knowing he liked who he liked; he never looked at people's physiques in a lustful way like so many other people seemed to do. For him, sex was a healthy part of a relationship, something that came after the progression of becoming close and then making a mutual choice to deepen the friendship into something more.

This was the first time he could point to in his life where what he'd done could be considered a hook-up. It was unlike him to engage in sex without confirming what it meant, what taking that step in a relationship would change in that relationship's status. So why had he gone for it? Maybe it had been curiosity. Not about being with a man, even though he'd only ever been with women before, but about... What? He didn't even know. Something about how free York was with his affections. How it would be to be the object of that, even though he didn't know the outcome. Turned out is was that they were going to remain in the same brotherly kind of friendship they'd always had. And well, that wasn't so bad. Not bad at all, actually.

So much for thinking about it later.

His reaction was slightly delayed the last time York put the bar down. He had to blink away his distraction.

"North?" York says. That is not normal—someone with the best eyes in the group just fuzzing out of reality for awhile. Then again it wasn't normal last night either and no, nope, not going there while he's on his back and sweating and feeling the burn of exertion and—

Hold please.

Bar down, sit up, grab water, drink. York pares his thoughts down to the bare minimum, focusing on what he must do to complete the next series of actions like a command prompt rather than anything else. Wipe sweat. Drink water. Blink at North. "Next thing?"

Yeah, North was only gone for an instant, but it was the wrong instant, and that made it long enough to be noticeable. "Machines," he says, trying not to miss a beat. It was that or sparring and he was too much in his head for that right now. He'll take something mindless and repetitive, thank you. "I'll take the leg press first."

"Coffee not kicking in?" Toss out an excuse, York thinks. They're more visible here and maybe it wasn't strong enough but they need to maintain the status quo. Even if he wants to bend North over the nearest machine and lick him.

"Must not be,” North says. If it was a little later he could blame it on a sugar crash from the syrup, but even that would be a piss-poor excuse.

"Seemed a little weak to me too." Hence the extra packet of sugar. See? They're covered. _Normal everything here is normal everything here is fine_  oh god Connie is gonna know when she looks at them. Jesus. To the leg press, set up the weight, give North a nod and then not focus on his face and how he looks when he's all sweaty and red.

North passes a hand through the front of his hair and sits down on the machine's seat. "Usual weight's fine," he says. He sits up straight and sets his feet in the brackets. A deep, cleansing breath was the way to begin with this and he keeps his eyes straight ahead as his legs work. Twenty reps and stop, rest and breathe. Fuck this acting weird thing. They were adults and this was not high school.

"Doin’ good,” York says. “Ready to up the weights? I think you can push a little harder."

"Yeah. Twenty pounds should be good." Same deal, North thinks, concentrate on the work of it, on the burn and on control. His eyes flicker over once when one of the other Freelancers walks by but that's all that his attention seems to wander. It's not until he's done with the third set of reps that his gaze falls back on York with a nod, and he climbs up off the seat. Switching places can be done without a bunch of unnecessary words. They know the routine.

North's not totally cold, it's just...a little easier to be a little more businesslike than usual as they finish their workout. By the time they're done he's back to being looser, though, having had the time to adjust his mindset without letting his mind wander back to the night before. When they're done he jerks his head in a little gesture toward the door. "I've got training now. See you later."

“I’ll catch you for lunch. Got some lock drills and hand to hand today but those never take too long.”  Even if they’re going into deeper levels of encryption and even springing some holographic locks on him in the middle of sessions the further they move along.  Which is a little surprising. How many alien bases use holographic locks?  But his is not to question the wisdom of the director.  He’s here to follow orders, keep his fellow freelancers alive and not to cause trouble.

Well

One out of three isn’t that bad now, is it?


	3. Chapter 3

North knows something’s up when Connie minces up to him after lunch day and stands on her tiptoes to mutter in his ear. "Strip poker, common room, 2100," is all she says, and then she makes her way off to alert someone else. He grins to himself and puts his helmet on. Looks like she wants to avoid the discussion they'd had about it last time around and just take the bull by the horns.

After training he showers and gets dressed. How one dresses for a game of a strip poker all depends on exactly how many articles of clothing one is willing to lose before baring all. North choses to put on a pair of boxers and an undershirt before putting on a shirt and workout pants. Socks and shoes, too, of course. Beyond that he isn't too bothered. He‘s pretty decent at playing poker.

The game itself is fun. They all knew the protocol on exactly how rowdy they can get without it drawing the attention of the leadership. The Counselor seems to understand the fact that people with their kind of job need to cut loose sometimes. That doesn’t mean that they can go overboard, though. North’s pleasantly buzzed by the time people start to fold and cut out for the night, and is still wearing his underwear and one sock. He's been sitting with York on one side and Wyoming on the other and laughs quite a bit as York tries to convince Wyoming to bet his mustache.

"No, dude, seriously,” York says. “That's all you got left on the table. And it's me. _Me_. You are gonna win this hand. Put it in." But Wyoming isn't going for it. All that gin and tonic and lime, real limes and real tonic and the best damn gin you can get in this quarter of space and...nope. Not going for it. It's been a decent night for him—he hasn't been drinking as much as the rest and has been paying attention, but even then, not going for it. Doesn't matter that he's down to jeans, a sock, and an armband (it totally counts) Wyoming is not going for it. Fantastic. He's fucked.

North grins. He’d known a bet like that wasn't going to be forthcoming and when he thinks no one’s looking he shoves his lower leg right alongside York's and kicks at his foot.

York knows he shouldn't perk up at the knock against his leg because he's fucked and that's still a win. Maybe another time. He waves a hand off and goes through the round, managing to win back his shirt at the very least. Better tonic next time. Or scotch. Where the hell is he going to find scotch? He'll figure it out. But when no one else is paying attention he hooks his foot around North's for a brief moment, rolling his heel across the top of North's before snapping his eyes back to the game.

North's grinning. Yeah, he realizes this is going to go on, because Wyoming never cuts out early, but as it stands North’s going to win their bet, and the chances that's going to change is pretty much nil. Makes the fact that he's losing the actual game not matter too much. York's not winning either, even though he's wearing more clothes than North is. When he loses his shirt again North elbows him in the side, weaving just a bit in place. "Lucky streak's over," he teases.

"It is not—" York mutters, checks his hand and...well. Shit. It is. "...You know what boys?" (Even Connie, South, and Carolina are boys. It's kind of a thing. Poker night everyone's equal.) "I think I've learned from my past mistakes well enough to know when I'm beat. I'm out for the night."

North lets out a little hum, then laughs. "If only you always knew it when you were beaten."

"I'd stop sneaking back to my room mostly naked, yeah." He snorts a low laugh and collects his meager earnings. As in the shoes that are still his and a bottle of something honey flavored. Something good.

North’s not really calculating how things might look if he follows suit right this second. Instead he's realizing how heady he feels, knowing he and York have a debt to settle. There's no reason they have to do it right away but well, he wants to. He really wants to.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to head back to my room now, too," he says, "before I end up like you on Wyoming's birthday." Not that York had been too embarrassed to walk to his room in the nude, but hey. He hadn't known when to give up that night, and North didn't want to be like that.

"Save all the grunts a fright. You might make someone faint." York pushes away from the table and clamps a hand on North's shoulder first, reaching across him to shake Reggie's hand. Good game, all that. Affects collected and bottle in hand he ducks out, making his mostly dressed way back to his room.

North rises and does the same, receiving a wink from Connie when he bids her farewell. Or maybe he imagined that, he doesn't know. He makes his way to his own room, which is only a few down from York's, wondering if and when York will come knocking. Maybe if it's a while he'll put on a few more stitches of clothing and show up at York's door instead.

Or maybe he won't. Maybe York's bet was nothing more than teasing. They had agreed to continue this...well, he didn't know what to call it. He doesn’t like the idea that they’re just hooking up because that implies an emotional distance he doesn’t want interfering in their friendship.

Besides, the other Freelancers will all be wandering down this hallway one at a time, and neither of them want to be seen going into the other's room. Right?

He lies down on his bed with his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. He'll give it a few minutes and decide then.

Meanwhile, York’s in his room, wasting a little time. He’s got what, ten, fifteen before the hall's clear? Enough to stow the bottle and get dressed. Or less dressed. No, dressed. Loose clothes, though. He'd showered before the poker game so that's fine, he doesn't need to do anything with his hair and oh god what is he eighteen? It's just North. It's just another hookup. It's just his best friend letting him ride him like a Harley.

There is no way this is going to suck. Buck up.

Once he's pretty sure the halls are empty he peeks out just to be sure and sidles his way to North's. Doesn't even bother knocking, just steps inside and leans back against the door. "So. I lost."

North's mouth turns up at the corners and he sits up, setting his hands on his thighs. "You did, yeah." He doesn't realize until York shows up how sure he'd been that it was what was going to happen, and how much he'd been looking forward to it.

"Well, damn,” York says. “I was sure I had him going. He thought about it for about...three seconds. I almost had it!" Like it's any other bet. Like it's nothing even if he's stripping off his shirt and kicking off his shoes on the way to the bed. They could jump right into it but—there's a couple of things that he's noticed over the past four days that he'd really like to take advantage of. Firstly he straddles North when he gets to the bed, arms wrapping around his shoulders to steady himself as he leans in for a quick kiss. "I swear if he had one more drink in him, he'd have gone for it."

North runs a hand down York’s back. York’s not one to waste time, is he? But North had kind of set that precedent the last time. "I don't," he teases. "That mustache is his pride and joy." Kissing, kissing is nice. He scans York's face for just a moment before pressing in for one that's meant to last a little longer than the first.

Skipping right to the naked? Sure! It's a precedent York can get behind. But sitting and making out—they have all night. They both know for certain that they manage to sleep pretty well after. Why not take advantage of the time? Besides it's nice, the slow drag of North's mouth against his. Something about it leaves him all warm and comfortable, half lidded and languid in time for the next one. Longer? Longer's good.

North’s hands go to York's sides, gripping around his ribs, and he deepens the next kiss, playing his tongue between York's lips. It's the most natural thing in the world. He's so comfortable here.

This is easier than it should be, York thinks. He should worry about how this is going to carry over but—it's nice. With as hellish as things can get why not let themselves have one nice thing? He slides his hands into Drew's hair and sighs, leaning in to let him in that much more, residual tension from the day melting away.

North grunts under his breath as York leans in and he wraps his arms around him. When that kiss finally breaks, North takes a couple breaths and then dips his head to nibble down from York's ear to his neck. He's growing hard and he tilts his hips forward, delivering a soft bite to the juncture between York's neck and his shoulder. He has to avoid thinking about how eager he's becoming, because thinking about that makes it feel weird and he doesn't want it to feel weird. He just wants to enjoy this in the here and now.

York’s enjoying it, for sure. By the time he's here he's forgotten about anything but getting this far. Maybe a little more, but North's beaten him to the necking punch and honestly, that's fine—he'll just crack out a low laugh and comb his nails through North’s hair. "I have been thinking about this all damn night." Since he got word of the poker game. That's not weird, is it? Fuck it, he's allowed to be eager.

"Yeah," North mutters against York's skin. "Me, too." A light kiss gets pressed against York's neck and then North straightens up. "I guess I get to decide what we do."

He should say something smug, York thinks. Or tease. Or something. Not duck his head to rest it against North's shoulder and feel quietly pleased. To cover it up he bites a little at the skin, licking everything he's wanted to every morning during workouts. "Mhmm. Anything you want. You won, your call."

"Mmn." He smooths his hand down York's back, along his spine. "Uh..." He sniffs lightly and nuzzles into York's hair. "How about we trade blow-jobs?"

North's lack of experience hasn't even occurred to York. He did fine last time so, clearly, he's able to handle himself. This is where communicating with his partners is kind of important but York doesn't ever do that enough. "Aiming a little low there, Drew." He leans back enough to look him in the eye as he rolls down, grinding his ass against North's growing erection. "I bet my ass and lost. I mean we can do whatever you want but—" There's lube and a few condoms in his pocket. He's always been pretty optimistic.

North's quiet for a moment, meeting York's gaze. He never had anal sex with any of his girlfriends, so no matter how he goes it's new territory. He reaches up and scratches at his hairline. "That sounds good. It does. I've just...you know, never done that before."

"Really? Huh." Well considering how freaking big North is York guesses it's not that surprising. "We can work up to it." Implying they can work up to it tonight or take a swing at it another time. North is a big guy and it's something to not take lightly but York’s tipsy and comfortable enough to feel up to the challenge. "Like I said. Whatever you want. I'm yours."

"Okay." Once again, North thinks, that's the good thing about doing this with a good friend, someone with whom he already has a bond of complete trust. He can admit something like that without feeling judged. He runs his hands down York's sides to his hips. "Get up, then."

"Yes, sir." York leans in for a quick kiss before sliding off North's lap and standing, hands on his hips. Head tilted to the side he watches North move, memorizing as much of this as possible. God only knows when they'll get to again.

North scoots to the edge of the bed and then stands, palming lightly at his own erection, full of anticipation. Underwear needs to come off. That one stupid sock he's still wearing needs to come off, too. And York, well, he needs some company, standing there by himself.

There's an image York’s going to keep for—well. Ever. It's a good look for Drew. Then again at this point most everything is a good look for Drew. In the time York’s got on his own he shucks out of his pants (no boxers again, duh) and leans back on his heels to wait. That is a lot of North to admire. And to press up against once he's naked. York's hands slide around his waist as he nuzzles into North's shoulder. "Still look good."

"I don't have a reason to doubt it," North says with a teasing smile. "You always look like you have a tan. That's not fair, you know."

"Good genes." York snorts, rubbing a hand up and down North's side. He is pretty pale, it's kinda pretty. As much as you can get away with calling a guy pretty. "I can't help it."

North hums and bends his head to kiss York. Having a handsome lover is just a bonus.

...There's that word again. Is that really what they are now? Does having two encounters make you 'lovers'?

Does it matter right now? He'll ponder that later, and probably deny it. He moves to mutter in York's ear. "Tell me how to start." That is, how York likes things, how he wants them to go.

That...shouldn't be as hot as it is, York realizes. North asking for direction even when he's the one in charge. Or it could be the way North’s lips brush up against his ear. Or both. Enough that it takes him a half second longer than it should to come up with an answer. "You did pretty good last time. Just—your hands? All over. That was awesome."

"No problem." North gives York's ear a nibble and moves his arms from around him so that he can smooth his hands down York's chest and his sides to his hips. One hand then goes to his balls, cupping them, then massaging them roughly, while the other hand moves to his ass.

"Nngh—" There's a word that York meant to say but he's lost it because teeth plus ear equals please yes more? More would be good. More is good more is awesome with the hands on him, smoothing over his skin and settling right there— "Oh christ I think I have a thing for your hands." Think? Nope. It is now confirmed. He'd been mostly interested but now he's hard and twitching against North's hip.

"Really," North says, amused. He kneads at York's buttock, then grips it with his whole hand. With the other hand he works his fingers under York's balls to massage his fingertips against his taint.

"Mhmm—oh god." Wow big hands are awesome. Big hands that can hold most if not all of him in one palm and fingers sliding right there. "Lube. Lube in pants pocket."

North sighs pleasantly and draws his hand off York's balls and up to the tip of his cock before releasing the grip of his other hand and pulling away. He bends to get the lube out, along with one of the condoms. They're in the second pocket he checks and he rises again. "What position do you like?"

"Usually? Anything that lets me see who I'm with and grind so for you?" He gives all of North a rather blatant look, taking in size and girth and making a few mental notes about comfort. "Cowgirl."

That would give York a good measure of control, so for North that works just fine. He sits down on the bed again and scoots back to lie down. Once he's in place he applies the condom and opens the tube of lube, pouring some in his hand so he can start lavishing it on himself. He'd never had anal sex but he knew it took a lot of lube—he'd heard that around somewhere. "Going to join me?" North asks with a quirk of an eyebrow once that's finished.

"I'm gonna need a second." Just to watch because dear god. Dear. Fucking god. Just—look at him. Slicking himself up like a pro. Once York can shake himself out of that daze well enough to move he walks up like he had before and straddles North, tugging one hand along North's slick erection to lube up his fingers. "All right, I lied, I'm probably going to need a minute. You're—really friggin’ big, Drew." He leans down to kiss North while he works a finger into himself, relaxing to get past the initial discomfort and into the fun slide and burn stage.

North chuckles, pushing and probing his lips against York's, eyes closing, head relaxing back against the pillow. God, the anticipation. He drags the flat of his palm up York's back up to the back of York's head, and increases the pressure of their kiss.

God bless the ability to multitask, York thinks. Working himself open takes time that he'd lose if he couldn't focus on kissing North and working at the same time. He manages only with the odd stall, nosing up against North's jawline when he has to lean back and breathe. "Almost done. Promise."

The hand that isn't on York's head is lying half-curled at North’s side, all slick with lube, and he decides to place it on York's hip. "You're good," he mutters, kissing at York's hairline.

"...nnn thanks—aw, god." He drops his head to North's shoulder, shuddering through one particularly delicious press and stretch. Three. Three's good, right? He twists so he can look back at North's cock for a moment. "All right—I'm good." Pushing himself upright he slides until he's right where he needs to be, rolling his ass back against North's lube slick cock. "Ready?"

North glides his hands down to York's knees as he moves back, watching him with anticipation. "Yeah, ready," he says.

It has been awhile since York’s last been with a guy, longer still since he met someone he'd wanted to ride. North's big, too, maybe the biggest guy he's been with. One hand on North's cock and the other braced against his shoulder as he slowly works himself down and god. He's glad they're both messy with lube because the slide wouldn't work otherwise. "Oh jesus christ."

"You good?" North asks, because the look on York's face is just a hair on the pained side. Or maybe he's misinterpreting it. But it's still good to ask.

"So. So fucking good,” York says. “Jesus." Okay maybe another inch? Yeah, there—oh god. His arm gives out and he slumps against North's chest with a low moan, fighting to catch his breath. The beginning and the end are the hardest parts for him. "Gimme a second."

The comfort and pleasure of his partner are always a first priority for North. Once he knows that York’s all right, North feels free to concentrate on the sensations of York tight around his dick. He hands are still on York's knees and he grips them tightly. "Mm," he grunts. "God, yeah...take your time."

Bit by bit, breath by breath York’s able to relax and sit back up on his heels, slowly working his way down. Every drag gets a new shiver and half muffled groan. God, there's a lot of ground to cover, here. York manage to get a little over halfway down before needing to stop and breathe again.

It's kind of fascinating, watching York do this. North starts rubbing his hands along York's thighs gently, soothing the spots where his fingers had been digging in. Until York's ready for him to start moving he's just left to lie there, anticipating.

"Nnn. Okay. I'm good." Last little bit York takes in quick just to get it over with and wow that's a feeling of fullness that's been missing from his life for awhile. "Jesus christ you feel good." At least that's what he says as soon as words are a thing to him again.

"As good as you feel to me?" North says, smirking slightly.

"Better." Smirking is not allowed, no sir—except it is and it's North and that—it should be weird but makes everything okay. York laughs a little at himself before bracing his hands on North's shoulders and pulling up again, nice and slow, before starting to rock down in earnest.

"Mm, I— I doubt it," North says. That's fucking amazing, that tightness around his cock, and he tries to fall into York's rhythm as he starts with shallow thrusts, and he lets his jaw go slack as he grunts out his pleasure.

"We ever switch places you'll know—hng!" All right, that was either a lucky shot or North had been paying attention but York puts a twist to his hips and leans back just enough to get it right where he wants it, shuddering through each thrust thereafter.

A ragged exhale precedes a deepening of North's motions, and he groans and grunts through the work of it all. He starts to mutter something—something about how good York looks, but "Taylor,you're—" is all he manages to murmur, before emitting a gasp and a groan.

"Damn right I'm." Now that York’s got a rhythm going it's easier to let that crackling warm feeling fuzz into the background so he can just...enjoy this. Slowly work up to a harder rhythm and grind down once North's all the way in and jesus fucking christ.

North chuckles under his breath, but the sound gives way to rhythmic grunts as he follows York's lead, burying himself in deeper. The snapping of his thrusts gives way as he starts to shudder with the effort of holding back his orgasm. "Go-o-od," he groans, tilting his head back. He doesn't want this to end, doesn't want to come too soon, but it appears to be inevitable.

"Y'close?" They're both shuddering through erratic breaths and god York's almost there. Every drag is so damn good he can't stand it, rolling back down as hard as he can with his legs, working himself over and over on North before that white scratchy itch becomes something blinding and he spills hot and slick over their stomachs. "Jesus christ—"

"Ung—" The groan is drawn out, North allowing his pleasure to wash over him as he comes just after York. He's left boneless, relaxing his legs slowly to rest on the mattress.

Senseless, York drops forward, catching himself with hands on either side of North's face so they don't crack into each other. His arms are trembling and he's still shivering through the aftershocks but...goddamn.

North tips his head up to plant a kiss on York's forehead, his breathing still heavy. He runs his hands up from York's knees to his hips and back down again. He doesn't have it in him to speak just now, so caught up that he is in the moment.

Breathing. Breathing needs to be a thing York does more of. In a minute. He shudders under North's hands, slowly rising up so he can let him slip out before pressing his cheek to his shoulder. Words? Words aren't a thing. He's sweaty and slick and that was awesome they should do it again. Not now. Later.

North wraps an arm around York's waist. He nuzzles in against York's hairline and breathes a sigh out through his nose. "That was...really good."

It's not fair. Why can North words? ‘Cause he has a nice voice, probably. York snorts a soft laugh and manages some kinda semblance of coherency. "M'glad you liked it. Now you know what you were missing."

"One side of it." If he's honest with himself the other side of things makes him nervous. But he knows he can trust York, now, to be understanding. Not that he would have doubted it before.

"Some people are happy with one side. Whatever you wanna do, man, no pressure here." Ever. That is one thing York's never really put stock in. You like what you like, you don't what you don't, you try what you wanna try up until you don't and his job is to respect that. He's glad with just this because dayumn. Damn. "But if you do wanna give it a shot sometime, lemme know. I'll walk you through it."

"What about you?" North asks, genuinely curious. "Got a preference?"

"Mm. Depend on my mood, really,” York says. “There are times when bending someone over and going at it is really nice and there are days when I don't want to think and I'd rather just ride it out." He shrugs. "Both happen about as often as the other so it's an even split."

North nods and moves his hand to scrub through York's hair. "A variety is good. I really liked what we did last time."

"God, the handjob and the grinding and blowing you was awesome. Let it be known: I do enjoy giving head. A lot. It's a point of pride for me." York gets off when his partners get off.

North slides a kiss along York's temple. "Yeah, oral's great. Giving it, I mean."

"God, I know right?" York props himself up enough to nip at North's jaw. "Really awesome."

"Mm-hmm." North turns his head enough to meet York's mouth with his own.

So's kissing, York thinks, or at least he'd say that when they aren't anymore. It's surprisingly natural, doing this. Almost like an extension of their relationship. Maybe this should be more? He pulls back to nuzzle into North's neck, grinning.

North lets his eyes close as he rests his head back. With the waning of the buzz from the alcohol in his system and the relaxation of the time after sex he feels drowsy and fulfilled.

This. This is nice. York's all for falling asleep on top of North again—after they've cleaned up. They really, really need to clean up. With a muffled whine he manages to roll off and snag something, bottle of water and a sock? Fine, that'll work, who fucking cares, to wipe himself clean.

North sits up as well, dragging the condom off and tying it off. "You planning to stay?" Please be planning to stay.

"Unless you want me to go." Even as York says that, though, he's tossing the sock away and climbing right back in to curl up against North's side. Warm as a heater and—he knows he can fall asleep here and be safe.

"Hey," North says, amused. "I need to get cleaned up too, you know."

"Fine—lemme grab my other sock." He rolls back out of bed, soaks the clean sock and offers it to North.

"Wonder what Niner would think if you went to her and told her you need baby wipes," North says. He scrubbed himself with the sock and laid back down.

"Probably that I've got some gastrointestinal distress going,” York says. “Or that I knocked someone up." Back up onto the bed to nuzzle into North's shoulder and curl close. It's comfortable, okay?

"Wouldn't be so bad to have on hand." North lets out a measured breath and lets his head rest against York's. "It's more hygienic than using your socks." So he's a little bit of a germ freak. York has surely noticed by now that he's a bit fastidious, so it shouldn't be a surprise.

"I'll have something better than socks next time. Promise." York’s not sure what he could use, but he'll think of something. Socks aren't his usual first choice but it's what he had. Next time. Next time he'll be better prepared.

North tilts his head down to look at York. "You know I'm serious, right?" The were always what he'd used in the past and he'd gotten used to how convenient they were. Besides the whole germ thing.

"I'll ask her,” York says immediately. “She owes me a favor anyway." He'd not wanted to call on it just yet but for North? He will. "Two packs. One for here, one for my room."

"Good. You're a good guy." North laughs a little to himself because yes. They wouldn't be doing any of this if he didn't already know that. He lets his head rest back again and shifts a bit to let his shoulder rest against the wall. "Gotta figure out a way to fit better on these beds."

"I'm working on the thing. The better mattress thing. Gimme a week and I'll figure something out." It will be hard between drills and missions and whatever this is, but he'll make the time. It's for Andrew. So it's important. York nestles closer against his side, arm looped around his waist.

"You're crazy." He lies there for a moment longer before giving York a nudge. "Here, turn on your side. That way." Spooning is nice, yes? Very nice.

"Only a little." He rolls over without trouble, nestling back against North. Normally he's the big spoon but North is kind of huge. And it's nice to be surrounded.

"Mm." North nuzzles in next to the nape of York's neck. "See? Plenty of room now."

"Yeah, you're right," York says. Why hadn't he thought of this? He can and will blame it on a really solid orgasm. And how nice it is to have North curled around him. "Can you sleep like this?"

"Yeah. I prefer it, actually," North says. If only he'd thought of it the last time 'round before they'd both gotten so sleepy.

"Mmm. Good,” York says. “‘Cause I can and I don't wanna make you uncomfortable." That holds true for a lot of things, really. This. Sleeping. Fucking around in the gym, that kind of stuff. But using his words to say that shit makes too much sense, so he's not going to do it.

"Nah, it's great." North cuddles up to York's back but avoids kissing the back of his neck. He's still feeling out the level of intimacy they're going to have during these encounters and too much kissing in the aftermath seems to tread a boundary that he's not sure York will want crossed. They already spent a little time afterward making out; that should be enough. After all, they're friends, not lovers.

He sure does seem to spend a lot of time pondering that word. Because it doesn't seem to fit because 'lover' implies love which implies a relationship which implies a commitment that they haven't established here. This is a trust fall like none other but he shouldn't push that into being something it's not.

So what are they? There's only one term North knows of, and that's 'friends with benefits' which is a goddamn long and awkward way to say it. But it's accurate enough. So he's going to stop pondering these things too much and just let them lie the way they lie.

Where North has reservations, York has none. No reservations, no questions, no shame. He rests a hand over North's and massages his wrist, feeling out his palm—memorizing it. He's always liked hands and always enjoyed paying attention to them but he's never really noticed North’s until, well, he did and they were on him. It's hard to not wonder at them now. Curled up close and quiet like this—

It's not how York does things. They have their fun and he leaves. That's how it goes. But with North he can't bring himself to leave. It doesn't feel right for one and it's just—comfortable to curl up with him like this after. The first time he'd written it off as exhaustion but this? This is enjoying this level of intimacy. One he doesn't share with just anyone. It fits that he shares it with North. He trusts him with his life. Why not with whatever this fragile thing is, because it is fragile. This isn't how either of them ever acts. York doesn't date seriously. North doesn't date lightly. If they put a name to this maybe...no. North hasn't. York's still surprised he's doing this at all. He's never known North to be into men.

When York moves his hand to touch his palm North curls his fingers to encase York's hand lightly, rubbing gently with his fingertips, then making little circles on York's flesh with his thumb. He lets a long breath out his nose and tips his head forward to rest his forehead on York's shoulder, closing his eyes. He doesn't have any idea of York's train of thought beyond knowing how pensive he seems to be, touching him like this. So why not? North turns his hand over and threads his fingers between York's.

Fucked out as York is this doesn't rev him up again so much as it helps him settle back into his skin. Get him loose and languid for sleep as he matches his breaths to North's. There's more talking after, usually. At least until he leaves. Which he isn't going to do. He doesn't want to—this is comfortable. A new, warm, homey sort of feeling. Without putting any thought to it York dips his head, kissing the back of North's hand. That's cool, right? They can be like this in bed and normal outside, yeah?

North’s mouth turns up in an oh-so-subtle smile and he squeezes York's hand lightly. It's as natural as anything ever was and he's glad that with that he can put those questions about intimacy out of his mind. York doesn't seem to mind continuing to display affection once they're done with the actual sex part of things. He goes ahead and does what he'd been pondering before—pressing a light kiss to York's shoulder.

York huffs a soft laugh against North's hand, pressing back a little to rub his spine against North's chest. Arching like a cat into contact he enjoys and this—this isn't what he does. But with North it is and something this new, this different? It's good for both of them, he thinks. He hasn't slept as well as he has in the past few days since before the Project.

North hums out a little sigh and releases York's hand to wrap his arm around him, tucking his chin over York's shoulder to comply with the tighter hold York seems to be requesting through his actions. It's true they're not doing much talking, not doing much other than feeling this physical connection and drinking it in. At this moment North wouldn't have it any other way.

Part of York feels like he should ask. If this is dating or if it isn't but that'd be a little inconsistent and pushy so demanding physical affection? He can and will do. Asking for clarification? Not so much. York leans his head back enough to nuzzle at North's cheek before settling down with a sigh, slowly drifting off.


	4. Chapter 4

Once again the two of them are careful to make their way to the mess hall at separate times. York goes on ahead while North goes to take a shower. Once he reaches the mess hall, he slides in beside his friend, rather than across from him. He finds it a lot easier to tease and banter with York than he had the last time. He’d just needed to get used to their whole arrangement and the awkwardness had melted away.

When York finishes eating, North stays behind to finish his breakfast. Once he’s alone, he lets the memory of the night before play at the edges of his consciousness. Without being aware of it, he's smiling to himself as he continues to eat.

South has been watching her brother since she entered the mess hall. She arrived after him and was sitting with some other agents she knew while he and York talked. The expression on her brother's face is one she is very familiar with and really, there's only one way to find out if her suspicions are true. She's quick to ditch her friends once North is alone and slides into the seat across from him with her tray.

"What's that dumb look on your face for?"

North looks up at her, his reverie broken, his smile deepening at the corners. "Hey, sis."

If he's not going to answer, then she'll be direct about it. There's only one thing that makes him get that stupid happy face. "Who's the girl?"

North's not at all surprised South noticed something. And the fact that she'd just bring it up at normal volume in the middle of the mess isn't surprising either. He rubs his chin. "No...no girl."

Hey, they're alone. Ish. No one else is at their table, at least. South might be tactless at times, but she's not stupid. "So... you're grinning like an idiot for no reason?"

That makes him laugh, trailing off in a sigh. "I didn't know I was grinning. Yeah, I suppose there's a reason. It's just not a girl."

"Are you sure?" Is it how loud she's being? That must be it because there is nothing else that causes that look. She lowers her tone and leans in slightly. "It better not be Connie. You know I don't like you dating my friends."

North knows she'll ferret it out one way or another; he might as well tell her. He glances to one side—there were several Freelancers sitting over there. But they seemed to be far enough away that they wouldn't overhear. He looks at her and shrugs slightly. "It's uh... It's York."

She stares at him, waiting for some kind of joke to come out of that statement. Yet, nothing comes. "You're not serious." It's a statement, not a question.

"Well, I'm not lying." To emphasize that he spears a piece of egg and pops it in his mouth.

South studies his face for a good, long moment. She'd know if he's lying, she can read her brother like a book and she's not sure what's stranger, his sudden interest in men or his taste. The latter wins out because while this is a new development, she would not see her brother going for York, of all guys.

"You're dating him?” she asks. “Really?"

His eyes flicker over to the side again. One of the other Freelancers appears to be leaving, so that should prove a good enough distraction for the others not to overhear. "Actually...no, we're not 'dating',” he says. “It's kind of more...mm, informal? Than that?"

Even more of this is not adding up. That's supposed to be her thing, not his. "Where the hell is my brother and who are you?"

He laughs a little. "I'm still here. You're that surprised?"

South rolls her eyes. "You never do that. And with him? What's he got on you?" There has to be some angle to this and dammit, she is going to find out what it is.

"Nothing." North cants his head slightly, and makes a gesture with his fork. "We're best friends. We trust each other."

"I'm best friends with Connie and you don't see us screwing around." She had to stop herself from using the term 'fucking,' if only because that actually would draw attention to their conversation. But seriously, that logic of his could use some checking.

"Hm." He didn't know how he could explain it. "It's just something that happened. And it was just...natural."

She shakes her head. "Yeah, uh-huh, sure it was. So you're just grinning like that because you got some?"

The smile came faintly back. "Pretty much."

His denial is strong, South thinks. He never gets this happy over sex (a thought she immediately pushes out of her mind because she does not need to imagine her brother doing that). There's something more to this, at least on Drew's end. "Just the once, huh?" she asks.

North's amused by her reaction. He has a feeling she's entering that protective mode of hers. "It was twice, if you must know."

"Really." If he calls that a one-night stand, then he's pretty damn bad at them. "How long ago?"

North shook his head just slightly. "Come on, Lex." She didn't need to know every detail, did she?

"What? I'm not the one breaking the rules here," South replies sharply.

"True," he said slowly. Not that he thought his sister would report them. He blows out a light sigh, though. "Last night, and four nights ago."

"You're going to get your ass kicked." But she'll keep quiet. At least to the higher-ups. Her attention is focused back on finishing what's left of her meal and she's already planning for her little 'talk' with York.

North grins. "Bring it," he says.

His grin is matched with a smirk of her own. "Is that a challenge? Because last I checked, I was beating you on the board."

"What if it is?" North says.

"Then you're going to be crying about a sore ass tomorrow." An incredibly poor choice of words that she only realizes once it's been said. She's just... going to finish eating and pretend like she meant to say that.

The poor choice of wording isn't lost on North. He bursts into laughter.

South’s cheeks tinge red and she glares at him. If this had been about anyone else, it wouldn't be embarrassing but this is her brother, for god's sake. "Just reserve a spot on the training floor for us."

"Sure, sounds good." He's finished with his meal and he wipes his mouth before getting up and heading off.

* * *

So York was trying not to be so obviously sore. Maybe he hadn't been as careful as he should have the night before. But he manages to keep his walk pretty normal and not hang around North so much before heading for a quick jog before North finishes up breakfast. After that they’ll meet for lifting. Like every other morning. He's finished with his run a little early and hanging around, waiting for North to show up so he can spot him as per usual.

But York was about to get the wrong twin. South’s conversation with Drew had left a few uncertainties, all of them centered around the man she is casually approaching. She'll let her brother slide for breaking the rules, but York? She owes him no favors.

"Hey, York,” she says. “So, what were you up to last night? I bet it was fun."

"Mm? Nothing much." York shrugs, lying as easy as breathing. Fraternization is against regs and the last thing he's going to do is get North in trouble. Especially with his own sister. "How 'bout you? What'd you do after the poker game?"

"Hung around with some friends for a while. I tried to find my brother later, but I guess he was busy." Oh, she's going to enjoy this. She stretches a little before leaning in with a shit-eating grin on her face and lowers her voice. "I didn't know he was your type. I didn't know you had a type."

"He headed to bed around the same time I did. Figure he probably crashed for the night." See, no idea what she's. Talking. About.

"What?” York says to cover it up. “What are you on about, South?"

"Yeah, I know he went to bed the same time as you,” South says. “And with you." Can she make it any more clear that she knows what's going on?

"You must've been hitting the vodka harder than usual if you think that's what happened." No, he did not fuck North. What they've got is—it's theirs, dammit. No one else gets to know about it.

"Like you're one to talk with all the flowery garbage you spout out to everyone you meet." She knows York’s reputation—he's all talk, despite what the board might show, and it's a huge part of why she needs to lay down the law.

"It's not garbage if it works." And it does. Often. Enough that he doesn't have to worry about working too hard on leave. Not that he'll be working on leave anymore. He'll have to go through the motions, strike out, and meet up with Drew. Not that it'll be hard.

She rolls her eyes. "Look. Drew already told me."

York stops. "...what?"

"Like he could hide it. He gets that dumb look on his face every time he gets with someone." If there's one person here she can read like a book, it's her brother. Never mind that she never saw this matchup coming before he spilled the beans, but still.

Now to get down to business. "Did you use the same lines on him that you used on that dumb brunette?" she asks. There's an biting undercurrent of hostility. York's rep and what she knows of her brother's dating history does not mesh well together.

"What?” he says. “No. We were just talking." There was joking and some mild innuendo but no lines or stories or plays that he usually did. Flirting with North wasn't a thing—until it was. Just like sleeping with him wasn't a thing until, suddenly, it was. They kind of fell in together and he's not about to explain that to anyone. Not even South. "No lines, no stories. It just kind of happened."

"Yeah, sure." South's not buying it. Not one bit. "Are you dragging him along because he's more convenient than waiting for a day off?"

"Wha— No! What kind of asshole do you think I am? We're two consenting adults and if he wasn't down, I wouldn't be doing this with him." He cares, dammit. He just—doesn't know if North wants to be dating. Or keep on as they are. He knows the guy's rep as well as anyone other than South. He usually dated seriously, but he dated women. Guys are...he doesn't know.

She rolls her eyes. "He doesn't do this kind of thing. You might, but he doesn't. He had that dumb grin on his face and I am not dealing with the fallout from you screwing him over," she hisses.

"I'm as surprised as you are." Honestly. York had not seen this coming. But he's more than a little glad it has—it's nice. Better than being alone on the ship, and for all this is kind of out of the blue, he's not going to fuck it up. "I'm not going to hurt him—he's my best friend, why would I wanna fuck him over?"

"You don't have a track record of doing anything but that," South says. He's proven that over and over again. "And you know it's against regulations. You could get brought down for this." Emphasis on the ‘you’ because she isn't letting her brother get dragged down in that. If she tattles, Drew's name won't come up once.

"I'm a serial monogamist!" Flirting and being casual does not mean he treats the people he's been with like trash. Jesus. He's as upfront as possible. Even if he's a bit of a player. Jesus. "What, you're gonna tell? I always knew you were a bitch, but that's cold even for you."

"If you fuck this up." There's a brief pause before she continues. "And it's not really right for number two to be skirting around the rules."

"If I fuck this up and hurt him I'll turn myself in." That—that's not what he meant to say. But it's out there now. Whatever. "The fraternization policy is bullshit and you know it. Not even the Spartan program has these kind of regs."

"Too bad, this isn't the Spartan program." And with this next part, she's going out on a limb. She sounds confident, but she's keeping a close eye on his body language to feel out his reaction. "You want me to keep quiet and not end this before you do something stupid, you're going to have to make it worthwhile."

"Or I could stop seeing him," York says. "And tell him why." Which would suck. On the one hand, nothing to report. On the other that would definitely hurt North and...

"What do you want, South?"

South can't push her luck too much, but at least she can get something out of this bullshit before it all comes crumbling down. "We've got a match scheduled for later. Throw it and make it look good. And I want you to score me a bottle of rum. I know you have connections."

"...okay, I will get you shit, but I'm not throwing a match." York had earned his spot, damnit, he's not giving up any points just because South can't work her way up on her own. You're either good in a fistfight or you're not, and it's not _his_ fault she's a sad hand at it. "Besides. No one would buy it."

"I should have known you cared more about your number two spot than about Drew. It's one match, you'd live." It's not that she can't earn a better spot, but why turn down a shortcut when it presents itself?

"No one would buy it. Hand-to-hand isn't your strongest suit. I'd have to fuck up spectacularly." Or be injured. Which is never fun. But that's the most likely way that this could work. He does have to lift soon and one of his shoulders is slightly more prone to pop out of it's joint if he twists a certain way and he _is_ known to get distracted—

Is he seriously going to do this?

He thinks about Drew. About waking up next to him, curled all around him, and how fucking _happy_ he'd been when York kissed him goodbye before ducking back to his own room.

...yeah he's going to do this. Christ.

"Then fuck up. I don't care how you do it." South's not sure what the hell that look on his face is for, but she knows what answer she's hoping for. His 'no' doesn't sound too adamant and a little more of a push can't hurt her chances. "Are you in or do I have to go let them know I saw you screwing around with someone on the ship?"

"You'd have to prove it." His stance on 'not on the MOI' is pretty well known for as much as he flirts.

"I'll find a way." It takes a lot to stop her when she's determined. And if she can't... "Or you can figure out why anyone I don't like, Drew doesn't date for long."

"We're not dating. If he wanted to date me he'd say 'hey York, we're dating' or something." No he's not bitter about that at all. He's just respecting North's boundaries, such as they are. Keeping things friendly. Easy. It's getting hard with South being, well, South.

Wow, South thinks. York's as dense as her brother. Maybe the match isn't that bad off, at least in that respect. She'll just let them figure that out themselves. "Whatever. Are you doing this or not?"

"Rum. Match. Pat your fragile ego. Got it boss!" Who gets finger guns? South gets finger guns. In a not at all threatening manner because he would lose his fingers if that was the case and he kind of likes them where they are.

South rolls her eyes and swats at his hands. "And don't mess up my brother with your games. You're the first... whatever you are for him."

"Not a game." Because it isn't. It's a natural extension of what they've always been. It's more than with benefits because the benefits include cuddling and emotional support he doesn't get anywhere else.

God. Labels are hard.

"Good. If it becomes one..." The look her eyes says the sky's the limit. She's not the best sister, but she's always taken a keen interest in who Drew chooses to spend his personal time with and this is no different. "I'll know."

"There's only one person trying to wrangle a prize out of this, and it's not me or Drew." A little pointed? Maybe. But entirely true.

"You're the one breaking the rules," she replies, tone just as pointed. "Tell Drew to lie better and wipe that dumb grin off his face if he doesn't want the whole ship to know."

"Oh damn, sorry Drew, you're too happy. Can't have that now can we?" This is where, any other time, he'd tell her to fuck off. but. Blackmail. Jesus how did he end up like this? Hit on your best friend, his brain said. It would be fun! his brain said. Don't think about his evil little sister. "I'll see you at the match."

For now he's got to go lift.

And fuck up his shoulder. It's gonna suck.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes yet again. Like York understands anything. Idiots couldn't even figure out what's going on between the two of them. She waves at him dismissively. "Yeah, see you then."


	5. Chapter 5

The mission hadn't gone well. It was only sheer luck that they'd survived at all. North had made a split-second decision, probably influenced by the fact that he was running on adrenaline and endorphins, barely after finding himself awakening in one of the seats of the Pelican. Things were dire, that he could tell, and Carolina had reacted in a timely manner, ordering him to carry out his plan.

Climbing onto the outside of the craft was difficult, but he had to protect them, protect everyone. The timing was crucial and he had no way of knowing whether it would work, but seeing the flash around him and hearing the crack of the missiles exploding, he knew he'd succeeded.

After the missiles had struck his energy shield North had fairly crawled back into the Pelican, exhausted, got into a seat, and brought the rocker bar down over him again. Now that he didn't have anything to do but wait in the seat and feel the ship rocketing and buffeting through space, the pain in his chest grew. His chest piece was an oppressive weight against his body, and he could feel where the dents caused by the bullets that had hit him were practically embedded in his flesh. His head didn't seem to be doing so well either. He set a hand on his forehead, and with that he lost consciousness.

When he awakes again he’s in a gown in one of the cots in recovery. Well, however badly he'd been injured, they must believe him to be on his way back to health. The pain in his chest is duller but he still feels like there’s a weight on it. He pops the snap at his shoulder and pulls down the neck of the gown to get a look. His chest is spectacularly bruised. He has deeper purple circles at the bullet impact points, but he’s bruised from neck to navel, pretty much.

He lets his hand drop to his side and shifts his legs. They’re covered with a blanket. He’s groggy, and he can’t quite think. Someone should be here. Why isn’t anyone here?

York finds that as late as it is, sneaking back to the room isn't hard. Down to his civvies and waiting for the past however long since they made him leave (after hours, no visitors) and he hadn't fought them on it. It wouldn’t look good to fight them on it. He’d just take his chance later.

Of course he hadn't been on this op. No. Where it would have made more sense to have a stealth operative on board the Director used his bullshit system again to pick who went and how things were done and because of that? South got beat to hell, North got shot, and the op was nearly compromised. If he didn't know better he'd assume they were set up to fail. But failure isn't an option and he's too busy thinking about it all as he makes his way back to the observation room. They're still not—

They haven't called themselves anything. It's fun. It's easy. It's safe and comfortable but after this? It needs a name.

York's just too chickenshit to do anything about it.

He returns just in time to see North awakening and now? Now no one's here to tell him no. He slides from the observation room to plop down on the chair next to North's bed, hand falling to curl over his. "Hey, you."

North watches York come into the room, tracking him with his eyes, and when York covers his hand with his, North turns his hand over to lightly drag his fingertips along York's palm. "Hey," he says, his voice thick, the word coming out sluggishly. He must be drugged up. That's why he couldn't even muster a smile despite how happy he is to see York. He lets his head cant to the side to get a better look at his friend and manages to turn the corners of his mouth up slightly. "You're here." Not what he meant to say until it fell out of his mouth, but it expresses how he feels which is what matters.

"You look like hell." York squeezes North's hand, wanting to say how fucking worried he'd been, how glad he was he was okay but it all got knotted up in his throat. He settles for leaning over him to rest their foreheads together and just—take in the sound of North breathing. Still alive. "Course I’m here." No clarification of being his best friend just—of course. Why wouldn't he be here? He belongs here. "Think you can scooch over?"

"Mn." North’s utterance is accompanied by a shrug and then a wince. "Ow." His eyes are heavy-lidded and with York's presence so close to his, he feels compelled to close his eyes. Instead he forces himself to keep them open, pressing his forehead up slightly against York's.

"Okay, don't move over." York nudges North slightly, settling next to him as much as he can without leaning on his chest. "Tell me if I hurt you?"

"You're okay." At any other time he'd be a little concerned they'd get caught in this position, crammed together on the bed, but he's really just not thinking about that. In the weeks since this had all started he'd gotten used to thinking of them as not-quite-together, and he'd gotten used to skirting the rules. Surely York will pull away soon, before anyone enters. And if not, well...what’s the worst that could happen?

"No one's due to check on you for...four or five hours. Since you're expected to sleep through the night." So they're good to lie like this for awhile. Or he could bust North out and take him back to his room for—no. No, he's drugged up, they can deal with his relief-inspired libido later. "...don't come in all shot up like that again. And don't fucking use your dome without a pipeline to the command server, you idiot. Do you not remember what happened to Utah?"

"Everyone talking about what happened, then?" North mutters. That's all he can do, mutter. "It was that or let the ship get hit."

"Niner was telling everyone how badass you were, so yeah," York mumbles into North's shoulder.

North manages a slight chuckle. "She would." He's sort of only half-conscious now. He opens one eye and hums out a sigh. "Where's Lexi?"

"Sleeping off her meds in her room. She's fine. Got knocked around a little but nowhere near as bad as you, jackass. Way to make everyone worry about you." Yes, York's still a little tense.

"Nothing to worry about." North tries to take a deeper breath and lets it out in a strained exhale. Expanding his chest like that hurts. North turns his hand over so that the back of his hand is to York's palm, and spreads his fingers to indicate to York he should thread his fingers between North's. York responds and once their hands are entwined he squeezes as tightly as he can manage.

"You can say that but I'm still going to worry,” York says. “You could've died." Not from the shots but from the damn shield and then there'd be a corpse for him and South to stare at rather than a live, breathing North to hang onto. He's—he'll cope but the terrified thought of 'nearly lost him and wasn't even _there_ to say anything' rings through the back of his mind.

"Could've," North says. With York snuggled up against his shoulder he's comfortable and his chest isn't being too big of a pain. He finds that the drowsiness from the drugs is free to take over and he starts to drop off. He doesn't know how much later it is when he awakens again, this time with a little groan. His pain medication's wearing off, which means he feels a little more coherent but in a lot more pain.

York hadn’t dropped off until after North had, and he didn’t drop near as far. As soon as North starts to shift York's up, peering around at the rest of the darkened infirmary. No sign of anyone. He untangles himself enough to sit up and run his hand through North's hair. "Hey. Need more meds?"

North winces under his breath and encircles his free arm around his midsection. "Goddamn, I thought this hurt before."

"One sec, babe—" York doesn't think about anything but getting North his painkillers—that’s more important than filtering himself. There are a few different IVs and syringes preloaded for when North's medication runs out (thank you nurses) and he comes back with one, turning North's arm around to get to the inside of his elbow. "Scale of one to ten, how much do you wish you were numb?"

A line creases North’s forehead. "Don't do that." It was stupid. The dose wouldn't be marked on his chart, which could be dangerous, and— "I want to stay awake for a while."

"You're sore as fuck, though." York frowns down at Drew, syringe balanced in his hand. "Just a little? Your ribs are almost cracked."

He sighs. "No, Taylor, you don't know what you're doing. Leave it to the professionals."

"Like I've never had to patch myself up in the field before." Fine, though. He sets it aside and tucks himself up against North again, burying his face in his shoulder. "Want me to call you a nurse?"

"O-oh." That's a little much for North in the state he's in now. He nudges York with his hand to get him to lean on him a little less. "You'll have to leave if you do that."

"If it means getting you patched up, I don't mind bailing." He'd rather North not be in pain, really.

North moves his hand to York's face and runs the backs of his fingers down his cheek before pulling his hand away. "But not yet. Soon. Not yet."

"Okay." Instead of catching North's hand to squeeze it like he normally would York leans up enough to seal their mouths together, something soft and desperate in the kiss.

North takes it for what it is, enjoys it, letting York capture his lips with his own, and sighs pleasantly through his nose. It doesn't once occur to him to wonder what this means; just like so many other things about their arrangement, it seems like the most natural thing in the world. York's stressed, and worried about him, and that's bound to bring out an extra measure of caring.

York sighs into the kiss, glad for the warmth, the reminder that North's still alive. He doesn't know what exactly why he's so fucking anxious, but he is. The easiest way to ignore it is to keep kissing North. He pulls back, resting their foreheads together, murmuring. "Don't get shot again, okay?"

North smiles slightly and sets his hand on York's jaw. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Yeah, I kind of do." York turns his head enough to kiss North's palm. "Someone has to."

"If there's anyone who would have to worry about the other it's me." York was known for being reckless and brash, after all. North ran his hand to the back of York's neck. "You're going to need to get someone now. It kind of hurts to breathe."

"I'm fine—all risks pay off, yeah?" Better to be lucky than to be good.

He sighs. "You say."

York pulls away with one last quick kiss before hopping off the bed. "I'll let them know. You—rest up, okay?"

North closes his eyes after the kiss and rests his head back. "I will."


	6. Chapter 6

York had to keep his visits shorter than he'd like after that. Keep things friendly—once North was awake and coherent, everyone wanted to spend time with him to check in. Nurses, the Counselor, the Director even, Carolina, everyone. Keeping things friendly when surrounded by everyone shouldn't be as frustrating as it actually is. They're friends, right? Being just friendly and not getting into sexy stuff is just how they are when they're not in the bedroom. He shouldn't want to hold onto him forever but he does and it's—

Maybe they should talk about things. Put a name on this. Make it official. But should they? North hasn't really said he wanted to. But York hasn't either. Maybe he should stop being so damn chickenshit and just. Talk about it. Augh.

York stews quietly, slapping a smile over it until North's released to his room. Honestly, he should let it wait until later in the day, but he makes his excuses, grabs a little time for himself and sneaks into North's room, turning the lock around to make sure they won't be bothered. He turns and looks at North—he’s shirtless, and the bruises on his chest are on full display. They’ve already started the process of turning colors, reddish purple and blue and green.

"How you feeling?" York asks. He pads over to North's bed, perching next to him. Should he kiss him hello? Sure. Why not. York leans in, quick and chaste, pressing their lips together.

That’s nice, and North smiles at him and raises a hand to touch York’s arm. It's clear that whatever he and York have has deepened their bond, and North finds he's strangely okay with it remaining just the way it is. If York doesn't want to call it something with an official name, something that implies a commitment, North doesn't want to push him away by bringing it up. So he hasn’t, and doesn't intend to unless something makes it really obvious that he should.

"Better,” North says in response to York’s question. “A lot better.”

"How much better?" York murmurs, dropping his lips from North's mouth to his jaw. They should take it easy but he's been worried senseless. Wanting North better seems to be just as tightly wound in _wanting_ North and he's not quite sure how to handle it. Well. There is _one_ way to handle it but he's not sure if North's up for it. Not with all this bruising.

North pauses. He doesn't quite know how to take the fact that York's first act after he gets sent back for recovery is to come here to jump his bones. York must have felt pretty pent up, with him being out of commission for that long. He feels a tiny little twinge in his gut at the thought that York's first desire out of this whole arrangement is sex.

He thought it was more than that.

...Still. He's had a lack of sex for the same period of time and a little reunion wouldn't be bad.

North sets his hand on the back of York's head. "As long as you're not lying directly on me, it should be okay." His fingers scrabble into York's hair. "You remember our first time together? How I put my hand between us?"

"Or we could—" York shivers a little, pressing his head back against North's hand. "Mmm. We could—what we usually do?" Where he rides North. "But. Other way around. Missionary?"

He hasn't wanted to suggest it because—well, maybe North wouldn't want to? And he didn't want to push. But this is—he needs more than just hands. He needs to feel North all over to make sure he's really here. That he hasn't passed out next to a cloth-covered body. North is obviously alive. Obviously okay. But that reassurance is something that doesn't make sense, doesn't need to make sense. It's more than just fucking but he doesn't know how to say that. All he can do is try to show North in how he cradles his face. Leans in to kiss him again soft and slow. Cling to the pillow next to his face and just. Breathe against him for a moment. "If you want,” York says. “Otherwise hands are good."

By the way he's acting North thinks York seems to be really turned on by what he's suggesting. He swallows, scans York's face, and lifts a hand to smooth his thumb over the shell of York's ear. He doesn't have to ask York to be careful, or any of that kind of thing. He already knows York will be respectful of all of his wishes when it comes to this.

"I want to try it," he says.

"Okay." York gives him another kiss, gives another slow squeeze to North's hands before he positions himself between North’s legs and sits back. Rather than stripping down and jumping right to it York spends his time curling his fingers through North's hair, mapping out his face with his fingers. Tracing the angle of his jaw and the soft skin underneath, the breadth of his shoulders, the hollow space just between his collarbones. Memorizing every inch of him with hands and then lips and it's never really been like this before, but this is how he starts. He's gentle when he brushes his fingers over North's chest. Kissing every bruise like that will make them vanish, like that will undo the damage.

North closes his eyes when York's thumbs pass down his cheekbones, tilting his head slightly into his hand when it passes to his jawbone. This is new. The patience, the lavishing of affection, the...the look on York's face. As York continues to smooth his hands and now his lips over North's skin it raises goosebumps on his arms and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He sets a hand on York's arm, rubbing gently from shoulder to elbow.

York keeps exploring North’s body, shoulders to arms—he dips to press a kiss to the inside of each elbow, run his lips across the callouses on North's palm, the tips of his fingers—hands to chest to abdomen— doesn’t even lean to the side to tease at North’s nipples like he might normally. This isn't about that—well, it is about stimulating North, but it's also about taking inventory. Every bruise is being felt out and memorized and he might just be a little more vicious the next time he's in the field to make up for it. No one puts a bullet in someone he cares about. No one.

York’s hands slide down North's ribs to his hips, tugging the waistband down, peppering his abdomen with kisses. They've got time. They have hours before he's needed anywhere or North's expected to call in for any reason. He can take his time. Map out every inch of North and make him feel—

Make him feel loved. Because he is. And boy is that a realization to come to while he's nuzzling North's hip.

North’s still running his hands along York's shoulder and to the back of his neck and in his hair. This is definitely a record in how patient York's being and the foreplay is something entirely different even despite that. It's so...almost methodical. It's like York's determined to explore every inch of him before starting out, and North wonders if that has to do with York wanting him to feel completely at ease with what they're about to do. To show that he's only thinking of North's comfort and earn his trust.

It's really not necessary. But it is appreciated.

Once York gets to where he's tugged North's waistband down North gives him a little tap on the shoulder. "Here," he says, moving his hands to push the sides of the waistband down. He wiggles them down past his hips and pulls his legs out of the pant legs, one at a time, and drops them to the floor.

York has to take a moment to reevaluate why he's doing this. That last thought has kind of rocked him more than a little—but then pants are coming off and okay that bullshit about seeing someone in a whole new light when you tack the L word onto their classification in your brain? Not bullshit. North's always been handsome but he wasn't attractive to York until they started fooling around. Now? Now he's gorgeous. Not that he hasn't always been, York's just—had other things on his mind. Appreciated with lust rather than genuine affection but it kills him now to see that torso he cuddles up on most nights all bruised and injured. It gentles him further, softens the brush of his hands along Andrew's thighs, the drag of his cheek against his skin.

Thighs and knees and calves and god there's just so much of him. Just like he did for North's arms York goes over the whole of them with his hands and his lips, pressing delicate kisses to the arch of his instep and the top of his foot as he slides his way back up. Right. He should probably strip. He hesitates, red faced and a little—nervous? There's no cocky banter. Just the brush of his lips over North's navel as he kicks out of his pants and smooths his hands up Andrew's thighs. To distract him from any discomfort he licks at the head of his cock while he slicks a finger up and slowly starts to massage the tight ring of muscle he hopes to work open. "You good?"

North almost voices his thoughts— _you know, you didn’t have to do that_ —but York's carried it out with such diligence and reverence that it seems best to let it go. All the way from head to toe, North's watched York seemingly luxuriate in touching him. Now it’s over, now York’s returned and has started in on loosening him up more directly. Up until the last six weeks North’s never been aware of his asshole as something that could be involved sexually, but ever since the first time he came inside York he's known this day was coming. He consciously slows his breathing, and spreading his knees wide, he does his best to make sure he's relaxing. "Good," he says. A hand goes to York's shoulder and kneads lightly, betraying his words just a bit; yeah, he's nervous. He concentrates his mind on the sensation of York's tongue licking his cock, which is just beginning to harden. That's nice, and sufficiently arousing.

He lets York work for a few moments before reaching his hand into the bedside table drawer and getting out the lube and a condom. "Here," he says, passing it down to York.

"We got time." York leans up, braced carefully over North so he's not leaning on him, to kiss the side of his neck, his jaw, his lips. "I got you. If you want to stop, say so, and we'll do something else, okay? No pressure here, babe."

Again with the babe and it's only because he knows for sure if he says 'baby' he'll either get laughed at or North will know and then he's fucked. Or not fucked. He doesn't know how North would take that, no more than he knows how North’s taking how quiet, careful, and intense he's being now. He looks—like he's enjoying it but also slightly confused and that's not something York knows how to handle. All he can do is make sure this is good for him. York leans back and settles between North's legs, sucking the head of his cock into his mouth while he uses the lube to slick up his fingers and gently work the tip of one inside once he's relaxed enough.

North closes his eyes and continues to force himself to breathe slowly. It doesn't exactly hurt, it's just...strange. His dick is continuing to harden, and he moves his hand from York's shoulder to the side of his head, to play with his ear.

Keep it slow, York reminds himself. Keep it steady—any time he feels even a little resistance he pulls his hand back, slicks his finger up more and works to loosen him with the next digit down until it's moving easy. For such a big guy, North's super tense but he gets it, he really does. The first time is hard. Maybe that's why he's so tuned in to every breath and twitch, focus zoned in like he would for a lock that needs picking. No sign of nerves. No sign of panic. He keeps working one finger until North can take two, reaching deep and sliding his finger along inside until he finds that spot that makes everything glowy and fucking awesome. If that's how North's wired, anyway. Not all guys are.

North moves his hand to York’s hair, gently tugging on a lock of it, idly waiting for things to progress. It's getting more difficult, but not so much that he can't handle it.

And that's when York hits that spot.

He shifts then, pulling his feet in a little closer with a more forced exhale. And then, and then, oh then, he tilts his hips up into York's hand, still unsure exactly what he thinks of that spot York just found, wanting to experiment by getting touched there again.

York pulls up enough to check his expression before he leans down again. That seems to be just enough for North with how he’s rolling back against his fingers. York sucks more of him into his mouth as he glides his fingers over that spot in increasingly firm strokes. Sometimes it's just intense. Sometimes it's uncomfortable. For those that enjoy it? Really fucking amazing. York can get off with this alone really easy if his partner is paying attention and never once has there been a time that North hasn't paid attention. It's the least he can do to offer the same courtesy. The same care. North's relaxed enough now that York can slither a third finger in and all of them head right back to that spot, grinding down hard.

North isn’t one to groan but he makes a muted sound, setting one foot on York's calf muscle. Having a third finger in is pleasant and uncomfortable all at once, and there's no call for him to shift his hips again. Maybe that'll come at some point, but he's still getting used to the friction and the feeling of fullness. His head is thrown back, twisted to one side, his eyes closed, but then he tilts his head down to look at York and focus his gaze. He starts to say that he's ready, but he swallows the words because is he ready? Is he really?

York’s watching and waiting, carefully working those three fingers within North until it's easy. Until there's not as much resistance and—he's not as big as North. Three should be fine, if he's ready. York pulls off North's cock with a wet, obscene sound before dropping a kiss to the inside of his thigh, his hip, his stomach. "Now? Or you want another?" He doesn't think North will need a fourth finger but that's North's call to make in all of this, not his.

"No,” North says, looking down at York. “I want _you_." He's never worded his desire like that, so plainly, but it's the truth.

"...guh okay that. That is super hot." It's a quick cover of what York wants to say—that he's only ever wanted North back just as badly, but. Hey. Can't say that. Fingers pull out and there's a moment of fumbling with the condom before it goes on. Slicked up with lube and careful to brace himself between North's legs he pushes inside slowly, hand curled on his hip, eyes locked on Drew's. He'll say something if he's uncomfortable. York knows he will. "Easy. I got you."

North keeps his breath even, concentrates on relaxing, and relishes the sensations, these sensations that he’s never felt before. His hands cover York's hands, his knees draw up against York's sides, and eyes half-lidded, he keeps his gaze on his lover.

He doesn't have any problem with that word anymore. He's free to feel the way he feels, even if it means keeping the breadth of those feelings from York.

Little by little York rocks in and it kills him to not just go at it—but he can't. North's hurt. There's no way to forget with how those bruises darken his chest and ribs, those three deep points of impact. York's jaw and shoulders go tight as he finally works all the way in, holding himself over North for a long moment just to breathe.

North rubs at the backs of York's hands. He notices the way York pauses, and after he takes a long moment to acquaint himself with how this feels he tips his hips up slightly. "Go ahead," he says.

"You're good?" York knows he needs to be careful. He can't _not_ be careful. But that tilt, that look, the way North's voice curls around him is more than enough to get him moving. He keeps it slow. Slow and deep as he tries to find that same spot he'd found with his fingers.

It's not quite there, and North knows it's all in the angle. It's just a matter of— North tips his hips, forward and then back, trying to help York find that spot.

And then—and then he does, and it's even better than the first time was, and North sets one of his hands on his forehead, pushing back on his head and closing his eyes, trying to keep from groaning out loud. He's not sure how thin the walls are here.

York’s so sure for a moment that he found the right spot until suddenly he isn't, until North is wincing and arching backward and fuck, he hurt him, fuck, fuck "Jesus I'm sorry—"

He pulls back immediately, pulling out, rubbing his hands up and down North's sides. "We can stop, I'm sorry—"

North’s hand goes from his head to York's arm, grasping in desperation. "No—" The moment's passed though, and he has to relax back into the mattress. "Come back," he says, nudging York's sides with his knees. "I'm okay."

"Oh—that wasn't?" York hadn't hurt him? Okay, that—he lines up again and rolls in hard and deep, aiming for that right angle.

North wriggles, trying to find that spot again, not experienced enough at this to know how to move _just so_ and find the right angle. He keeps at it, and feels it—York hits that place, that good and right place, and instead of allowing himself to react as before he just drags his hand down York's arm. "There—"

There. There's—York rolls his hips in hard, snapping in close where it is that it needs to be, focusing as much as he can on North. On what makes it good for him. What makes him squirm and sigh. "S'good?"

North’s breath catches and he nods, helpless to do anything but give himself over to what York's doing, and he now lets himself grunt along to York's rhythm. To be honest this would be better with another application of lube but he doesn't want it to stop either. Closer, closer...goddamn this would be so much better if— He reaches down to complete that thought for himself, grasping his cock and falling into stroking it at the same rate that York's thrusting into him.

"Come on, Andrew. Come on." Sucking in every breath, arching forward to press his forehead against North's shoulder, York works, thrusting harder and deeper, picking up speed until everything is instinct and need and Andrew. Everything is North. Everything he can feel, everything he can see, the only thing that's important is getting him off as good as he can. No reason to worry about him bleeding out when they're locked tight like this. Connected. Knotted up and tangled and jesus christ he loves him. Loves him more than he loves this and he can't take knowing that without saying something.

Between the strokes inside and out North can't hold on any longer and he starts to buck as he strains through an orgasm—the orgasm of his _life_ , goddamn who knew it could be like this. He groans, low and husky, shuddering through it.

York’s not sure if it's the sound North makes or the sudden pinch of pain along his back from how North clings to him as he rides his way through or all of it. He gets less than one more thrust before he's hunched over and shuddering out his orgasm right after North, eyes squeezed closed, groaning through his teeth. God that was—

That was amazing. And good. Good for both of them.

North releases his hold where he’s dug his nails into York’s back and smooths his hand back and forth over the skin. But it’s not long before he realizes York’s head pressing into his shoulder is a little too close to his chest, stretching the bruised skin. "Ah—" North winces and nudges York's head with a slight flexing of the joint. "Up now."

Up? _Shit_ , shoulder— York hauls himself up and rolls away, sitting back between North's spread thighs, and it's right on the tip of his tongue to say the damn thing.

He wants to say it. He means it. But he doesn't know how it'd be taken.

"Sorry," North says. He's still trying to catch his breath. He rolls his head up and then down again, letting himself shudder through the aftershocks, then trains his gaze on York.

And sees the look on his face.

"Hey," he says, sitting up and putting an arm around York's neck. "Hey, you okay?"

Cover it up, York thinks. Make a joke. Say—say something, but the only words that are in him to say are the ones that are some kind of damning. He scrambles for anything but nothing comes. Not a thing. All he can do is lean into the arm around his shoulders and shrug. "M'good. Really."

North squeezes a little. He's not as touchy-feely as York but accounting for the way York would do things he decides to lean in and press his forehead to York's. "You didn't hurt me," he says. "In the middle there. It's okay."

"Good. I— Good." Words. He has to have words. But none come to mind. Just those three he can't say and—he closes his eyes and leans in enough to kiss North again. Slow and warm and desperate. He almost lost this. And he'd never said a damn thing. He might still lose this. And he still can't say anything. "You good?"

"Better than that." North lets out a sigh and presses another quick kiss to York's lips. "That...was amazing."

"And now you know why I like riding you so much." There, that's—that's himmish, right? Enough to keep North from worrying. He hopes. He reaches up to curl his fingers in North's hair and just hang on for a moment, forehead to forehead. "How are your ribs?"

"Little achy," North says. He'd say he was fine but he's going to be honest with York no matter what and he can always reassure him if he feels bad about it. With his free hand he rubs York's side gently.

"Let's get you back down then, mm?" York gives him another kiss—no tongue just. Soft and sweet and easy as he grabs wet wipes (he paid attention after that first time) and cleans them both up, tossing the condom. Once North's situated he clings to his hand, running his lips over North's knuckles like a nervous twitch.

North watches York, the way he's doting on his hand. There's something different about things this time and he's realizing he was mistaken about York simply being horny when he'd first arrived here. He flexes his fingers, waiting to see how York will react to the motion.

Something's behind this. He just doesn't know what.

"You sure you're okay, Taylor?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'm...yeah." York shrugs, not up to trying to find a lie. He's fine. He's just—overwhelmed? North's alive. North's fine. And doesn't need to deal with his shit. The flexing of his hand gets the motion chased, York's lips trailing from knuckles to fingertips and back again. God. He'd almost lost him. They'd all almost lost him. And for what? "Just...wound up, you know?"

"Yeah. I suppose I do." North tugs his hand slightly away only so that he can cup York's chin with it. "But you don't have to worry. Okay?" He runs his thumb along the line of York's jaw.

"Well, I don't have to, but I'm gonna," York mumbles into North's palm, still not quite meeting his eyes. "Don't use your equipment without a pipeline to the server again, okay? Getting shot—that happens to all of us all the time. But the dome shield..."

North just looks at him for a moment. "...I can't promise that." Not if the circumstances are similar to what happened the last time. He draws a breath and releases York's face. "Here," he says, tucking his elbow under himself and starting to turn on his side. With the recent strain on his chest muscles he really shouldn’t do this. He refuses to wince at the pain though; seems like York will freak if he thinks North's in pain.

"The odds of you not dying horribly when you're shot are about average,” York says, watching him. “When you use the dome shield the odds get a lot worse." He can't believe Carolina cleared him for it—but he's not going to fight her. Use what you have to when you have to but she'd seen Utah. They all had. It'd been horrible, no one could get to him, no one could shut the damn thing off—

"I know," North says. He's a soldier, dammit. He knows the risks.

It doesn't take much for York to curl in close next to North once he's rolled over. Even if he's careful not to lean on the bruises. "Look just—be careful, okay?" he says. On the field they have a job. He can deal. It's the afterward that has him shook up. He can and will handle his shit when he has to, because there's no if, there's when, everyone gets shot, everyone gets hurt. They're at war. It happens. But he's allowed to get all knotted up about it after.

North rubs his forehead. "I told you I can't promise that. You know our jobs."

"I know, I also know pulling careless bullshit is my job, right?” York says. “You did what you had to do because there was a situation, and I get it. There weren't any other options. Doesn't make me less worried." Why do they even have these damn upgrades if they don't function all the time?

"You're just going to have to worry then." North looks him in the eyes, frowning. "And that's as much my job as it is yours. We're Freelancers, Taylor. We knew what we were getting into when we signed the contract."

"Experimental tech, turn the tide of the war, save humanity!" York snorts but lets it sit. North's going to do what he's going to do. York's just....going to have to deal with it. "I know. Ignore me I'm just—ignore me."

North moves his hand to rub York's side. "I appreciate it, I do. It's just not helpful to worry like that."

"Sure I'll just. Not." Don't say the thing, York tells himself. Do not say the thing. The thing is dumb. The thing is not what North wants. Do not say the damn thing. "Get some sleep, babe. You need it."

North watches him for a moment. He supposes it doesn’t mean anything when York calls him that—he’s always using nicknames. Even when they’re not in the heat of foreplay. "Do you have to go soon?" he asks finally. It's nice having York here but North doesn't want him getting in trouble.

"Nah. I have a few hours. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise." York leans up enough to rub his nose against North's, grinning.

North really doesn't need a nap. It's early on in the day and he hasn't been up that long. But between his pain meds and the sex and being so close to York, he is feeling a little drowsy. He shifts forward a bit and weaves his leg between York's. Being tangled together is nice and he scoots forward a bit to find the exact spot where their knees can comfortably rest together. "There," he says, and relaxes.

As much as York wants to lean forward and press into North's chest where he usually sleeps that's—not possible. He's too bruised and there's no knowing when he'll be able to move without wincing again. Jesus. Motherfucking minigun. York winces in memory of how North had looked when he'd come in and curls as close as he can without brushing up against any bruises. One of his hands slides to curl in North's, tangling their fingers together. "Perfect fit."

"Yeah." North smiles gently, then allows his eyes to close.

His sleep is shallow. He's conscious of their position, meshed together just so, warm and lazy, the whole time. Pictures flash through his mind, things that they have never gotten the chance to enjoy together—mornings alone with coffee at breakfast, instead of being surrounded by fellow-soldiers; wrapping up together in a warm comforter at night in a big-enough bed instead of using scratchy army blankets on a cot; walking together in the shopping district of a small town and buying souvenirs. He doesn't know why he's thinking about this kind of thing. He's half-dreaming, that's what it is. First of all, he and York don't have that kind of thing, not officially. Saying something about those kinds of things? That would just drive York away. They're friends. Not boyfriends.

As he's pondering that fact he realizes he has to give into the fact that he's just not that sleepy and he opens his eyes. Maybe letting himself get back to reality will wipe those thoughts away.

North may not be tired, but York is exhausted. Worry stresses a guy out and sleep doesn't come easy when you're wrestling with feelings. Feelings are hard. Feelings suck. Feelings get you in trouble. His hand is still curled tight in North's and this? This is how he can sleep. Their tangled fingers pressed to his chest, his forehead lined up against some patch of warm, alive skin. Utterly blissed out and devoid of all that strange worry he'd had before.

There is so much they'll never get to do. He's resigned to that. But there's so much they can have if they just let each other. The question is if North wants that. York's pretty sure the answer is no.

North has nothing in the world to do other than watch York sleep. He’s snoring lightly, face relaxed instead of being lined with worry like earlier. North's definitely not going to move and disturb York. He draws in a breath and lets it out in a sigh. Why can't this just...

No, don't think like that, he tells himself. What they have is what they have and wishes won't change that.

Then York’s twitching in his sleep. Somewhere—in a dream, in a memory, something happens that makes the blissful silence and sleep a little less blissful and more stressful. PTSD is a thing but he's always managed shit alright. But North...suddenly it's not so fine. He's not okay. York goes tense and sucks in a breath, blinking himself awake to make sure he's still there.

That he didn't dream this shit up.

That they're fine.

North squeezes York's hand. "Hey," he says softly. "You okay?"

"Mn." York can't say anything for a moment, still trying to wind down from what his brain did to him. North's fine. He'll _be_ fine. Everything is gonna be okay. "Bad dream. M'good."

"If you're sure." North leans in and kisses York's forehead, once again keeping in mind what York might do were their roles reversed. York is just so much more affectionate than him on a regular basis, and that tells North a lot about how much York needs that kind of thing.

"Yeah...yeah I'm sure. I mean you're here and you're fine. So." He shrugs, nuzzling into North's jaw as much as he can without leaning into his chest. "M'good as long as you're good."

North leans his head into him. "I wish you wouldn't think about it so much, York. It's over, it won't happen again."

"I'm trying." Does North think York likes entertaining the idea of him dead? No. No he hates it. Hates it with everything in him and—

He wants to tell him so badly. But It's not what North wants. Is it?

"I guess that's the best I can ask for." North's already told York multiple times not to worry; that can only do so much good.

"It's not even this that—I told you about my squad before the project, right?" How they'd all gotten shot up thanks to bad intel? Yeah. It'd been. Yeah. "I keep seeing that happening again, same ambush, everything—but with you there."

"It's just your brain trying to process things." North rubs York's hand with his thumb. "Mixing things up, giving you worst case scenarios."

"Yeah," York mumbles, scrubbing at his eyes. No they are not wet no he was not crying over almost dead North in his dream shut up. "I'll be all right, I think."

"You will be." That York was moved nearly to tears is not lost on North. He wasn't going to put too fine a point on it though. That wouldn't be wise. Instead he just bends his head and kisses York, trying to be comforting. He doesn't initiate often after sex—that's York's thing—and North is still kind of confused about how it fits into their arrangement. But it definitely seems to be something York needs at the moment.

Don't cling, York tells himself, don't cling. There's the bruising to consider, don't cling—his hand goes tight around North's and he leans up into the kiss as hard as possible—most of that desperation is gone but there's still that undercurrent of—something. Harder and sweeter than anything else.

North realizes he thinks too hard about these things. He never wants to look too eager, he doesn't want to send mixed signals, because if he looks too invested York might be frightened off. But since he got injured York's been...different, in regard to the way he treats North, the way he's being so sweet and soft, in the way he touches him, even in the way he addresses him. So at the point when he'd normally break the kiss and pull back, keep it light, keep it short, he chooses to up the intensity, treat it more like the kisses they share when they're about to make love (god, that word); treat York like he's the only thing North cares about in this moment and let the consequences be damned.

It's only just now clicked for York that this is okay—as long as he doesn't _say_ the shit he shouldn't say he can act however he wants. And how he wants to act is like hes absolutely worthless without North. Or at least that his days are empty and all that romantic clichéd bullshit. All he can feel and breathe right now is North and it has nothing to do with fucking. It's the exact opposite. The words are there in him fit to choke with how they're knotted up under his tongue and he leans up, hoping that will make it a little easier. A little simpler. A little more obvious that he feels something for North beyond friendship. But this—this is good. This is more than enough to be curled up tight as he can be, tangled with North as much as he could. He could ask for more but it's— No. No he can't.

He has to be happy with this, this is as good as it's getting. "North I..."

North slides a kiss along York's cheekbone. "Hm?"

"Really. Care. About. This. Us? You. I care about you." Okay that's safe, right? Has to be.

North draws a breath. With this, whatever line they'd had drawn between them when this started has been crossed as far as he's concerned. "Us," he says, and brings his arm back around from York's back so he can trace York's lips with a finger. "What is us, Taylor? Are we...?"

"I don't know,” York says. “What—what do you want us to be?" God he'd be glad for a straight answer. But he cares. So fucking much.

North closes his eyes for an instant, then focuses his gaze on Taylor's eyes. "Exclusive?" he says. Maybe that's an overly complicated word for it. It's not like either of them are sleeping with other people on the ship as it stands.

"...I haven't really. Anyone." Since the first time. Hasn't even been flirting as much as he used to. He can't. It doesn't feel right to him, it never has.

"Yeah,” North says. “I know." What he wants to say is so risky. Even with the way York is acting, North doesn't know how he'll respond to this. He's always had the idea York is a bit commitment-phobic. There's that, and the way they've been flouting the rules. This will just make that worse. But...

He bites his lips together. "You...you want to be boyfriends?"

All that tension York's been holding in the pit of his stomach since that first time just—melts away. He rolls his head forward to rest it against North's and takes a second to breathe.

He's got this. They're okay. He can worry less.

"Yeah. Yeah that's— Yeah. Exactly it."

North breathes out a laugh. "That's what you wanted to say," he says.

"Look I didn't know where you stood,” York sputters out, “you've never dated dudes that I've heard you talk about and you're _you_ so I just—" He leans back to peer up at North.

"And you're you," North says. "That makes a hell of a lot of difference."

"Oh, so that's how it is." York starts to disentangle himself from North, making a move to sit up. He's not gonna huff and flounce out naked he's just—breathing. Not getting offended. "I'm a serial monogamist, okay? I can have a serious relationship. This. This is a serious relationship."

"No—" North takes a hold of York's arm and tries to tug him back down. "Taylor, I didn't mean that. I meant it doesn't matter whether you're a guy or what, because I want to be with _you_."

"...oh. I swear to god I'm smoother than this." Normally. Always. York settles back down and tangles himself close, nosing in along North’s jaw.

North hides a wince. He's been lying on his side now for a while and the mattress moving puts fresh pressure on his ribs. He really shouldn't have been lying like this at all in the first place. He sighs through his nose and runs his hand from Taylor's shoulder to his hip and gives his hipbone a squeeze. "I hate to tell you this, but I need to change positions."

"Mm? Oh, yeah, move." York pushes away, just enough so North can roll carefully onto his back.

North gives a little hiss on an intake of breath as he settles in. Yeah, shouldn't have put all that pressure on his ribs. He'd known how stupid it was, but he'd just wanted to hold York. He tilts his head back a little bit and keeps himself from making any other expression of pain.

"How you feeling?" York murmurs, lifting his hand to curl in North's hair.

North sighs. "I should probably take another dose of my meds."

"Where are those? I'll grab 'em." Not that he makes much move to leave the comfort of the bed.

"I think I left 'em on my footlocker." Likewise North doesn't seem that eager for York to leave his side. He turns his head to nuzzle his hair.

"Mkay. I'm gonna go get those, all right? Be back in a second." York leans up to press a quick kiss to North's lips, peeling himself away to snag the medication and returning as quick as possible.

Once North’s taken the pills he puts his arm out for York to lay his head on. He's still conscious of the fact that their time together is limited and he wants to make the most of it.

"Gotta bail in a few hours,” York says. “Up for a match." With South. That'll be fun. Not that he's gonna say anything.

"Yeah. I figured." Some of that spell has been broken now that York's had to get up and come back again. It's never quite as warm or cozy when that happens. And it was just so nice, lying on their sides the way they had been. North can't see York face-to-face now. He turns his head, then reaches with his free hand to trace York's nose, his lips, his chin.

"I'll be back when I'm done, though,” York says. “Promise." Nothing else to do but spend the night with his boyfriend. That feels warm to think. So cozy. He's never really had a boyfriend that was this serious until just now, really. It's nice. Sort of..warm and fuzzy. Maybe he won't throw this match. Fuck South. He's got this. He doesn't need to duck around—maybe he should tell North but...everything's warm and cozy right now. No need to ruin it.

"Good, 'cause if you didn't I'd be lonely," North says. Like he is on the nights they spend apart. It would never look good for them to stay together too many nights in a week and how were they going to handle this from now on? He wants to stay with him every night now and that's just not going to be possible. Not if they don't want to get caught.

"I'll spend the night and everything, babe." York will deal with the logistics of what getting to and from his bedroom would have to be later. Right now he just nuzzles into North's fingers and relaxes as much as he can against him and the mattress.

North breathes out a chuckle. "I had no idea what to think the first time you called me that."

"Oh wow he's calling me something sweet and I should do the same?" York snorts, turning enough to kiss North's fingertips.

North breathes out contentedly with a little hum. "I didn't know. I should have." Considering he'd felt the same way.

"...how long have we both been dancing around this wanting to be more than we said it was?" York asks. He has to know. Really.

"I don't know. It sort of crept up on me. It wasn't like it was suddenly there one day." His fingers went from York's face to trail down his neck. "It was already there when I got hurt though."

"Kinda been knocking around my head for awhile too. I just—" He shrugs and turns to kiss North's palm. "I didn't know how you wanted it to be."

North smiles. "Like this. Just like this."

"Didn't wanna push, you know?" This is better than he'd thought he get. More than just fucking around and he's glad for it. Still seems early to drop the L word but he can act a little more like he wants to.

"I do." North runs his hand down York's arm, then tangles his fingers with York’s.

"...were you trying not to push too?" Oh god they're idiots. They are both such idiots. How much time have they wasted?

"I didn't know if you wanted me that way," North says. A diplomatic way of saying it, he hoped.

"Yeah, me too. But we're good now, yeah?" Real good. Awesome. Perfect, even, as much as they can be while at war.

"Yeah." North squeezes York's hand and kisses his temple.

"Next leave I think we should do something special,” York says. “Ditch the guys and go on a real date somewhere." Who knows when that will be—but they've earned it. He's sure they've earned it.

"Mm." North pulls his hand out of York's to run it over York's chest and abdomen. "I was dreaming about that when I was asleep."

"Really? What else were you dreaming about?" There's a lot York would like to do—not much that they'd ever have the time to do. Maybe when the war's over. That'd be nice—to actually date like a few twenty- to thirty-somethings instead of having to cram things in between missions.

North keeps his hand moving, running it down York’s side and back up his abdomen. "Well, it was a place...I guess something like a bed-and-breakfast. And we were just staying there."

"A real bed with plenty of room, quilts, maybe a fireplace?" That sounds...awesome, actually. Somewhere cozy and quiet for just them.

"Mm-hmm," North replies, pressing a longer kiss to York's head. A handsy North is a horny North and North's hand has continued to rove whatever parts of York he could reach as they talked—shoulder to waist, neck to navel, and back again. He's not really sure what's put him back in the mood but it definitely has something to do with them making this official. It just seems appropriate to have some celebratory sex, he supposes. Now his hand travels back to York's chest and he thumbs at York's nipple. "Hey," he says.

"Hey yourself," York murmurs. He’d noticed when the idle petting became less idle and York is so very on board with this. He's got...an hour? Maybe two, before the match with South. They have time is the thing and they may as well make the most of that time. "What do you want, babe?"

"Something different." North pauses for a moment. Position is key with his injury and he thinks of the perfect thing. "You on your hands and knees? What do you think of that?"

"I'm down for different," York says. Different is good. Different is awesome and no he does not do a full body shudder at North’s suggestion that's all North's imagination. "I think that's awesome let me get the lube."

"I can,” North says. It's still on the end of the bed and he's the one who's going to need it. Sitting straight up is easier than rolling over to get up, so he does that, grabs the bottle, and turns around.

"I'll just assume the position, then?" York says. Teasing and god does it feel good to tease, leaning around to press a kiss to the side of North's neck before he settles in front of him, elbows and knees, and peering back over his shoulder. "Ready when you are, Drew."

North's feeling kind of aggressive, not necessarily the way he often approaches things, but god, finally admitting what he's wanted for so long is making him burn with need. He knows how to touch York by now, how to open him up and prepare him to accept North's cock without discomfort, and he works on that while his other hand kneads firmly at York's hip. "You look really good from here," he says.

"I always knew you only liked me for my ass—oh god." York's head drops low as North works his fingers in slick and dirty, they've done this enough times that North's learned every single little twist that makes him shiver. And now he's using it all to break him apart. Not that York is complaining, oh god no. If anything he's rolling his hips back against North's hand, wanting more. "C'mon—"

"Impatient?" North teases. He gives York one last stroke within with his fingers before withdrawing them, applying a condom before beginning to press into him. He knows he needs to be careful for this part, but once they're situated he'll be able to take things as hard and fast as he wants.

And hard and fast is what he wants.

"Li'l bit—" Hands are good and he's gone off with just North's fingers before but all of him is so much fucking better. He's probably ruined for other guys now. No one else will ever wind him up so tight or touch him so deep, and none of them will ever care about him near as much as Drew does. Ever.

Once he's buried in York, North smooths his hands down York's back before gripping onto his hips. He lets out a long sigh. "You feel so good."

"Same to you babe," York says.

Mentally, North's used the term 'making love' in the past. It sounds so much better than 'fucking' to him. Because it was never just about getting his rocks off when it came to his sex life with York, no matter that this whole thing was borne of their teasing one another. This time? It really is making love for him. He's tender in the way he rubs his hands against York's thighs, spreading York open, pressing up against him, before he finally begins to move. He starts out slower than he'd like, making sure York's loose and ready, before he starts to snap his hips more quickly, before his grip on York's body becomes more fervent, before he starts to puff and grunt out his pleasure at each stroke of his cock.

York had meant to hold himself up the whole time—it's not that hard normally but it's just so much more right now. It's not just a rough and tumble, it's not screwing around, it hasn't been for awhile and North isn't normally this aggressive. It's fucking awesome is what it is. Hard and fast isn't usually how they go but it's so goddamn good and he can't hold himself up, dropping down onto his elbows to press back and just let himself be ridden.

The second time around always lasts a little longer. The pressure in North’s loins seems to build and he finds himself aching for York to touch him, to feel his lover's fingers stroking him. He takes a brief slowdown, rubbing his hands languidly along York's skin. "Hey," he says. "Reach under there and grab my balls."

York’s every breath comes out in a low sigh or soft moan as he winds tighter around North, pressing back as much as he can with the limited leverage. The slowdown gives him time to breathe and remember what thinking is. "Mnnnh?" But it’s only a moment before he processes what he’s been asked and he shifts his weight to one forearm to reach between his legs and he skates his nails across North's balls before squeezing them, rolling them in his palm. "Like this?"

North lets a shudder go up his spine and a light groan escape before answering. "Yeah," he mutters. "Keep that up." With that he starts moving again, more controlled at first, kneading his fingers into York's ass, eventually speeding to the pace he had been going before. When he reaches his climax he jerks against York, grunting out his pleasure with each of his final thrusts.

Between the speed and the sounds North makes it doesn't take York long to shudder and come on the sheets under him, riding out those last few thrusts boneless and senseless. It takes him awhile to remember how to breathe, let alone how to say North's name before he pulls away enough to roll over and beam up at him. "God you're amazing, Drew."

North matches York's smile with a gentle smile of his own, and reaches for the wet wipes to get them both cleaned up. Once the wipes and the condom are disposed of he lounges against the wall and puts his arms out. "Come here."

"You sure?” York asks. “Your bruises won't bother you?" Not that it keeps him from climbing into North's lap and looping his arms around his shoulders. It's kinda nice having someone so huge right there to lean against. Suddenly he gets the appeal of having someone bigger than you around all the time in bed.

North sighs and presses his forehead against York's. "Just don't put all your weight on me." Then he tilts his face forward to press their lips together.

"I can manage that." It just means leaning away more than he'd like while pressing up, trying not to grind against North's lap. Twice in one day is more than enough.

North chest is aching dully, and he knows his ribs are going to hurt once this dose of painkillers starts to wear off, but it's all worth it as far as he's concerned. When the kiss breaks off he lets himself breathe, in and out for a few moments, feeling that pain in the background. He didn't push himself too hard, not exactly, but it's going to be felt.

"Mmm,” York mutters. “Gotta go soon." Ish. Soonish? Sooner than he'd like. He's comfortable and cozy right now but he does have that match—and he's gonna kick her ass. She can yell at him later. But he's not throwing this one. Not today.

"Yeah." North tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of York's skull. "We missed lunch. You want to meet early for dinner?"

"Sure,” York says. “I think it's meatloaf tonight. Or. Whatever they think meatloaf is supposed to be." A little while longer like this would be nice. He always feels so damn loved when North's tangled around him.

North chuckles. "So, blocks of meat paste?" He can't seem to keep his lips off York right now. He slides a kiss down York's cheek and presses one to his chin.

"Mhmm. And pasty powdered potatoes." York snorts, tipping his head so there's more for North to kiss.

"You can always tell when we're due for a shipment of rations," North says. Right after a stop they get fresh produce and everything.

"Usually the shipments come about the same time we get leave—probably so we won't hoard shit." Not that it stops York from stockpiling apples.

"Means we're about due," North mutters. He stops kissing York's neck to rest his cheek on York's shoulder. "I wonder if we can find out in advance what planet they're going to stop at."

"I can always ask Niner,” York says. “She knows everything." It's kind of magic, how much she knows, how well she knows it.

"If we find out we can pick out a nice place to spend leave together," North says. They'd have to be a little bit sneaky about it but they could definitely get away with going to a different town from the rest of the crew.

"Gonna have to handle it on the DL but for the most part if I say ‘I'm gonna go get some’ people leave me alone to get it done,” York says. “Your sister, though..." No, not bringing it up here.

"You know she knows, huh." Well, it wasn't that surprising, really. He lifted his head from York's shoulder. Twisting his neck around and down like that was hurting his chest. Goddamn this injury, it was interfering with all his attempts to show affection.

"...well yeah." Not elaborating. Nope. Just gonna comb his fingers through North's hair and not thing about the awkward that is dealing with South.

North would have shrugged, but that still hurt a little. "She knew it just to look at me."

"You kind of were glowing for awhile afterward. It was cute. Is cute." So damn cute.

"I wear it on my face, huh." North was usually all right at lying, but well, he hadn't had intentions to try to hide his mood at any particular point in this. Maybe he needed to pay attention to that from here on out.

"You are a man on cloud nine, babe,” York says. Not that he's much better. It's kind of hard not to feel all giddy and warm now that he's got that certainty.

"I am." North licks his lips and smiles. "You're up there with me, I think."

"...yeah I am." He shrugs, turning away a little so the blush isn't as obvious he doesn't blush who's blushing not him jesus Drew stop _smiling_ like that.

North notices, of course he does, but it's not like he's going to call York out on it. Instead he just presses a kiss to his temple. "You're really handsome, you know."

"I think the term is 'man pretty'." But York preens all the same, rubbing a hand over North's hip and twisting to press a kiss to his lips.

North moves to mutter in York's ear. "Actually I like 'gorgeous' but I didn't want to inflate your ego," he teases.

Okay, now York _is_ blushing but it's fine—not from what's being said but the lips on his ear okay? Okay. "It could stand a little inflating."

"Says you." North hums a little as he presses a kiss to the shell of York's ear and then pulls away. Yeah, he's going to have trouble not lighting up from now on whenever York's in the room. He can tell his eyes are a little bright right now.

"And that should be the most important thing." York nudges North gently so he can prop himself up enough to kiss him properly. Slow and chaste and easy. Leading to nothing. "Gotta get. Don't wanna get, but gotta get."

North closes his eyes to accept the kiss and only pulls away slowly when York breaks it off. He sighs. "Dinner," he says, to remind York of their plans.

"Dinner. I won't be late." York's slow to pull away, slower still to actually slide off the bed and start getting dressed to sneak out. Being there with North is just so comforting, so grounding. It's one more reason to keep fighting and to keep doing well. "Kiss for good luck?"

North lets his hand trail off York's side as he pulls away, watching him get dressed. "You don't need luck to win," he says, nevertheless putting his arm out for one last embrace.

"Yeah, but it can't hurt." York leans over, tucking close and pressing their lips together. He sure as hell feels lucky knowing he's got North waiting for him after.

"Hand me my pants before you open the door," North says after York pulls away again. He wants to be covered before the door is opened—just in case someone happens to be passing by just then.

"Yessir." One last little peck before York pulls away to scoop up the pants in question and offer them over. "Lemme know when you're decent."

"All right," North says once he's pulled the pants back on. Then he looks at York and tilts his head. "Mmh...how about it, one last one."

"We keep this up and I'm gonna be late—" Not that it stops York from walking over to lean against North that one last time, hands curled in his hair.

"We can't have that." A final quick kiss and pat on the ass later North lets York go.

"Be back in an hour,” York says. “Less, maybe." Okay, one more. One more, one more. Last one and he drags himself away, pops the door open and gives North a lazy salute on the way out.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Three days later North puts his armor back on for the first time, strapping on the brand-new chest piece and slipping on his new helmet. It's just like his old suit, and he supposes that's the point. It's time to get things back to normal, time to shed the memories of receiving his injuries and get back to work.

He's not around when York volunteers for the match with the new recruit. He's stuck in Internals, being grilled about why he chose to use his equipment in that ill-fated mission. He has to answer for his decision, even though his actions saved all of their lives. When the meeting is over he goes out into the hallway and spots Wash, and catches up to him to ask about his own meeting with Internals. That's when the grunts start running by, excited to catch the three-on-one match. North's not at all worried when he hears about it. What's there to worry about? It's just a training match, just some sparring. York getting injured is the last thing on his mind as he joins his friends in the observation deck.

He can't help laughing at his sister's smack-down on Wash's mistake in referring to the new recruit as a man. He's in good spirits, and as things progress he thinks to himself about how fun it'll be later, teasing York about his failure to make any headway in fighting Texas. Hand-to-hand is one of York's strengths but he can't even hold a candle to Texas's skills.

He's not as close to the window as Wash is, so he doesn't notice the use of live ammo until Wash mentions it. He steps forward a half-step, a small bit of anxiety creeping up the back of his neck, but York's on Wyoming and Maine's side, so he should be okay. As good as Texas is, she's the one who has reason to worry.

And then the unthinkable happens.

"What are those fuckers doing?" he exclaims, wheeling to reach the exit, stuck behind Wash and South as they jog down the ramp that leads to the lower level. He makes his way to the entrance of the training floor as the hatch raises, and Carolina rushes past him. No— He speeds up, but she reaches York first, kneeling beside him. North is first to reach York's side behind her, but that's when the medics arrive and he has to stand aside to let them work.

North can't see the front of the helmet from where he is. Surely the armor took the brunt of the explosion. He prepares to follow the medics to the infirmary but then the Director is there, dressing them down. North exchanges a look with Carolina, his worry for York being pushed aside for a moment. Things are insane; this is insane. Why is he defending what Maine and Wyoming have done? As soon as they're released from attention North turns and starts off for the infirmary. He's not worried. No, why should he worry? It'll be okay. It has to be.

There's one way to know at least a little about what's going on. If he's okay, or if his injuries are minor, they'll take him right to recovery. North goes to the observation room and looks through the window.

No York.

He goes through the entrance and pokes his head in. Maybe York is in one of the beds you can't see from the window.

Nope. No York.

There's no one around for him to ask. He can't do anything, can't find out anything. So he sits in the chair nearby. As soon as someone arrives he'll be right on top of asking them for information, but for now that's not possible.

The doors slide open around ten minutes after North has taken a seat, quietly fretting without any news to be had. It's rare that Carolina is in much the same boat, searching for a warm body that hasn't returned yet to any of the recovery wards, but if she's distressed by it, she shows little sign. York is a good friend, and someone she trusts at her back—and someone who didn't deserve to get caught in the crossfire like he had. She'd displayed enough concern on the training room floor, as had North, hence why he gets a friendly nod as she slips off her helmet.

"Still not out yet?" she asks.

North chooses to stay in his full armor, unsure what the look on his face will show if she can see it. He does his best to keep the extent of his worry out of his tone. "No," he says. “I haven’t heard anything, either.”

"Last update FILSS had was that the doctors had things stabilized." Meaning he'd be okay. She hoped.

He hadn't thought about asking FILSS. Where was his head? He lets out a breath. "And here I was waiting for someone to come out here to ask."

That remark gets a sidelong glance as much as the breath does. Carolina doesn't comment on it, however, merely placing a mental finger on the pulse. "You could be waiting a long time, then. The medical team isn’t exactly the most chatty bunch."

"No, that's true," he says. "Anyway...I think I'll just wait here for now." Though 'for now' pretty much means 'until they bring him out' no matter how long that ends up being.

"That could be a while." Not an atypical wait for Carolina, admittedly, but she also used the time to complete paperwork and start planning missions. All the better to keep herself from getting too wrapped up in concern. She cants her head at him. "You weren't aware that something had been scheduled off the books, either."

He presses his lips into a line briefly. "No," he says. "I was in Internals most of the afternoon."

She can't see his reaction, merely sighing. "I gave you the clear for that. I hope they didn't grill you too hard." It had saved their lives...unexpected nosedive notwithstanding.

"It could have been worse," he says. "I know it was risky. I also know everyone on the ship could have died. It was a snap decision, and as far as I'm concerned it was the right one."

"I didn't disagree. It also showed that the shield was effective in the field, which likely accounted for the lack of further disciplinary action." She reaches over to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Though I suspect at least one person was concerned about the extra strain that put on you. How're those wounds?"

"My ribs are healed up enough for them to send me back to work." That much was obvious. "I can't lift yet, though. No weights."

"Light running and support from on high," Carolina mutters to herself, tucking it away for later, before frowning at him. "If you're not meant to be lifting, not exactly comfortable to wear the suit while you're healing up, either." Is she going to have to have you rest up in the ward, too?

"Oh...I can tell I'm going to be a little achy tonight. It's nothing I can't handle." Time for the helmet to come off. If he's going to be hanging around here for a while he might as well. He sets it to the side, next to his chair.

She eases back a little, leaning up against the wall as arms fold over her chest. "And here I thought that was my line."

North makes a little gesture with his head. "I think it's all of our line at some point or another."

"So long as it's not just a line,” Carolina says. “Knowing what your limits are needs to come before learning if you can exceed them, and how far by." She would know, of course.

"Mh." He nods. "Message delivered loud and clear, Carolina."

Is it? He can't see her doubtful expression, attention focused forwards as it is. She collects her helmet, giving him a two finger salute in passing. "I've a few rounds to do." Ears to box, mission reports to plan, medical teams to harass. "Let me know if there's any updates?"

He returns the gesture. "I will."

He does, sending her the occasional message over their HUDs, letting her know when York's finally brought out to recovery. North hung around the whole time, asking FILSS for updates now and then. Not much changes according to her, though. Stable, York's stable, what does that mean? North wants updates on what's being done to him, whether he's in surgery or just getting stitches or being treated for a concussion or what it is.

It's late when they finally bring York out, late enough that North missed chow because he was waiting here. York's laid on one of the medical cots and North sits down in the seat nearby. York's out cold. They tell him that York will be out for a while, that he's been sedated, but they withhold any information about his injury or its treatment. That only for the leadership to know, apparently. North can tell, obviously, that the injury was to York's head, what with the bandage wrapped around the top of his head and one side around his eye.

North messages the new information to Carolina and moves the chair so he can get a good view on York.

In the time between updates, Carolina had accomplished much. She spoke with the Counselor, reviewed the latest updates of one of the main missions ahead of them with FILSS; assigned Florida to run over some scenarios for her—the man always had an eye for such things. Chewed out Maine and Wyoming, for all the good it did in the case of the latter. Really, it had been an accident that York had been caught in the crossfire like that.

But that didn't mean Carolina had to like it.

She doesn't miss the fact that North has remained, watching and waiting, for hours. A fact cheerfully confirmed by FILSS a few minutes before he pings her to let Number One know Number Two is finally out of surgery. She hadn't missed his absence at dinner, either, and the way South had looked both exceptionally grumpy and exceptionally concerned had settled things for her.

When she arrives, it's with her helmet left in the locker room and two cups of coffee in hand. One of which she sets next to the table beside York's bed, for North.

Now North knows how York felt when North was unconscious here in recovery. When he'd awakened, York had approached him right away, taken his hand, and expressed his relief that North was okay. That was during the gamma shift though, when no one was around. Beta shift is a different matter. There are medics passing through, the occasional someone stopping by for treatment of a headache or other minor concern, people approaching the window in the observation room before moving off. He feels a little conspicuous, actually, because his devotion to sticking out this vigil is on display for anyone who cares to put the pieces together.

North just wants York to wake up. The rest of it can come later.

When Carolina arrives and sets that cup of coffee down he glances over to her. "Thanks." It's appreciated, it really is, but he's not sure how much of that he's going to be able to drink. He settles his gaze back on York. "They won't tell me how bad he was injured. I've been waiting for him to wake up, but so far, no sign."

"You were missed at dinner," she replies simply before stepping a little closer to the bed. All the better to get a good look at York. For all the occasional flirting, they had a strong understanding of each other's boundaries, and she counted the man as one of the very few friends she trusted here. She was just as concerned about him, in her own way.

The longer he stays under, the greater her concern grows.

She allows herself to squeeze his hand, lightly, perhaps out of hope that he'll sense someone's there, before stepping away to rest that same hand briefly on North's shoulder. "He took a bad blow to the head, even with the lockdown paint protecting him. But our doctors are good, they know what they're doing." Have a little faith, in York if no one else.

"I wasn't hungry," North says. A half-truth. His worry had overshadowed any appetite he'd had. But it's true, about the doctors. They'd taken care of his physical needs after his own recent injury and he was well on his way to recovery. North sits back in his seat. "I just want to make sure someone he knows is here when he wakes up." And he wants to be that person.

"Someone will be," she says in as crisp and calm a commander tone as she can manage. That could be hours from now, and they both know it. And North has already been here for most of the day. That much, Carolina had already queried with FILSS, before informing the AI it had been at her request. North, after all, was reliable. Clear headed. And it wouldn't do for anyone to make assumptions about her team.

She sips her coffee, hiding her frown behind it, before shifting her weight to one foot, expression craftedly neutral. "...He's been bumped down to sixth."

North’s eyes dart over to her with a frown. York's always been on the board above him. But complaining to her, expressing his frustration with the situation, will do no good. It's not fair, but he doesn't say so. He looks back at York, softening his own expression to something blank. He doesn't care—it's not important. York's health is important. York being okay is important.

They had both been there, when the Director had praised ingenuity and the actions taken by Wyoming and Maine. Carolina had dressed both of them down after, but neither had really cared. Well, Maine had some regrets, perhaps, more concerned that he'd pissed her off than anything, but for Wyoming, it had merely been business.

York wouldn't have gotten hurt if he'd stayed with his team.

North's lack of comment, even objection, had her glancing back at him again as he focused on York, and Carolina blew lightly over her coffee before taking a sip, then adding, "The fact he was throwing his recent matches against South didn't likely help him, either."

"He hurt his shoulder," North says. At least that's the tale York had told him. He hadn't had any reason to doubt it. No, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn South had interfered, but he didn't pay attention to all the match rankings, so North didn't realize it had been more than the once.

Carolina's eyes narrow, her snort dismissive. "Bullshit. I know what he's capable of, same as you, and thrown matches won't help South get back up the board. She can't improve that way." She'll get someone killed with those antics.

"Wait, 'matches'?” North says. “More than one?" Okay, that’s South's interference then. He shakes his head. But what kind of comment can he possibly make to Carolina? That he'll talk to York about not letting his sister threaten him into throwing matches? If he was worried about South telling what was going on he'd certainly found a bad way to avoid suspicion being put on him.

"More than one," she confirms, displeasure evident in undertone, before she looks towards the bed. It isn't like York give in on that sort of thing, either, even if it had merely been in hand-to-hand matches thus far. But Carolina had noticed. Which means it was likely someone higher up the chain of command might have as well. "I'm going to have to have a talk with her. And him, when he wakes up."

He sighs. "Yeah, that's appropriate." They don't need that to blow up in their faces. And neither does he. Because he knows exactly what that was all about, now. "I'd talk to them to but it'll mean more coming from you."

"South doesn't surprise me, but I'd expected better from him," she admits, with a glance to York. "If you think she'd respond better to you, say now." North had always been better at gauging her moods, after all.

"She probably would," he says. "She might need to hear it from both of us. I'll let you know."

Carolina pauses, then nudges his shoulder. "And if you don’t plan on eating, you should at least get a shower. Take a nap. Go for a walk and stretch your legs."

Reluctantly, he stands. He knows what she's saying isn't exactly an order but she speaks wisdom. "Are you sticking around, then?"

She nods. "As you said, he shouldn't wake up here alone. Not that I expect he'll be waking any time soon." But, if he does, her body language advises in its shift of shoulders and the cant of her hips, North will be the first to know.

"And North?"

He starts to leave, but turns when she calls his name. "Yeah?"

"Is this going to be a problem?"

"No," he says. "Of course not." He trusts her. As much as he'd like to be the one who's here when York wakes up, he knows she'll make good on alerting him right away.

"Then we're good." There's a flick of her hand over her shoulder, a wave and dismissal in one. You'll be the first she calls if there's any change.

-

His first destination after his talk with Carolina is to track down his sister. Maybe he'd listen to her other suggestions later—getting a shower, and maybe a nap—but he wants to talk to his sister right now, for more than one reason.

A knock on her door is the last thing South expects right now and she's surprised to see her brother on the other side of the door. Didn't he have a boytoy to be looking after right now? "What do you want?" she says.

"To talk." He goes ahead and makes his way through her door.

She reluctantly moves out of the way to let him in. He has that look in his eye that tells her she isn't going to be able to weasel out of whatever this is about. "About what? I thought you were too busy at the medbay?"

"Carolina took over for me." Not exactly according to his wishes, but he did need the break. "She told me something interesting that she'd noticed."

She rolls her eyes at the mention of the other woman. Any message from Carolina isn't one she wants to hear. "If you're here to ride my ass for her, save it."

"This is for me, actually,” he says. “I hear York's been throwing matches against you."

Another roll of her eyes. Really, it took him long enough to catch on, but at least that means York didn't spill the beans. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do,” North says. “I wouldn't have told you what was going on if I'd thought you'd turn around and try to blackmail him. What kind of good did you think that would do me?"

"Like it hurt him. He got hit with a fucking grenade and he's still above me on the board." Which proved to her how much shit all of that was. She waves dismissively at her brother. "He sleeps around every time he's on leave and doesn't take anything seriously. He's just screwing around with you, Drew, and he needed to know he couldn't get away with that."

"It's not like that, Lexi. And actually..." Unconsciously, a slight smile turns up the corners of his mouth. "We're pretty much official now."

She takes a moment to stare at her brother. Drew's feelings are no surprise—that dumb look on his face when she began pestering him about this gave it away pretty quickly whether he realized it or not. But York? That's a big unknown. "I knew you were in love with him, but are you sure he's serious?" she asks.

That dumb smile? It's back. "I am. I'm so sure."

Her brother always was a sap. She stares at him for a moment longer before shaking her head. "Don't come crying to me if he hurts you. I didn't even know you liked boys."

"It's not guys, it's just...him,” North says. “I mean, I guess this means I can swing either way given it's the right person."

"Good 'cause I don't want to worry every time I bring a boyfriend by for you to meet." A poor attempt at a joke, but hey, at least North is distracted and not upset about the whole 'blackmailing his boyfriend' thing.

He laughs at that idea. "I don't think you can even imagine that happening."

"Especially if that's your type. You could do better, Drew," she teases, though there's an undercurrent of truth. York's not her top pick for people her brother should date.

His smile softens, his gaze distant. He's remembering the day they'd decided to become one another's boyfriend, how affectionate they'd been with one another. "I love him," he says simply.

It really had taken them a while to figure it out and part of her had hoped they would part ways before it became a real thing. She sighs. "Yeah, I know. You had that dumb look on your face you always get when you love someone. Why do you think I asked about it?"

"I didn't know it was this particular 'dumb look'," he said, laughing. "It's not the only one you accuse me of having."

"I've got a chart I follow for all of them,” South says, “and this was definitely the lovesick puppy dumb look."

North hadn't forgotten his purpose for being here. "So if that's what you thought, why'd you go right to York and threaten to tell them about us?"

"I only threatened to tell about York screwing around," she clarifies. "I'm tired of everyone above me on the board being able to skirt around the regs without getting in trouble, but the one time I cut corners, I get blasted." There's no 'one time' about that, though it's clear she doesn't see it that way.

"It's easy to see special treatment if that's what you want to see," he says. "And telling about York would only lead to questions about who the other party is."

"I didn't think I'd need to do anything about it,” she says. “And I thought he'd have screwed up by now."

"And what were you planning to do then, Lexi? What goes on between us, it's our business." Especially since it was against the rules. They didn't need her intervening like this.

"Whatever," she grumbles and turns away from him, heading over to her desk to shuffle through... whatever is there. "I just won't worry about you ever, then."

He sighs. "I didn't say that. It just wasn't the helpful thing to do in this case."

She leans against her desk as she turns to face him once more. "So I said the wrong thing to your boyfriend, big deal. It's not like I told anyone what was going on. I wanted former number two to be down on the board, not you." Though, she wouldn't mind it if their places were swapped.

He shook his head. "Next time, figure out how to do that on your own merits. Okay? Leave me out of it."

"You weren't involved. I wasn't going to rat you guys out." Maybe. The thought had been there and tempting, especially as she fell lower and lower on the board.

"You made him think you were going to,” North says. “And you must have been pretty convincing." That's the only way she could have gotten away with it at all, much less more than once.

"Whose fault is that?” South asks. “I didn't twist his arm that hard. Besides, he kept that from you for how long?"

"Six weeks." Which meant he'd thrown a match once every two.

"Maybe you should get mad at him for thinking he shouldn't talk to you about it instead of being a wuss." Not that she minded York throwing matches to her. It made her life a lot easier.

"That doesn't excuse your side of it." But yeah, this would be coming up with York later.

"My side was just making him throw some matches." And get her a bottle of rum. "It didn't make a damn difference."

"It could have though,” North says. “And it wouldn't have been right."

She rolls her eyes and taps her fingers on the surface of her desk. "It would have been fine. He was breaking regs, he didn't deserve to be that high up on the board if he was going to screw around."

"Well, now you stand to get in trouble along with him for getting him to throw matches," he says.

"They can't prove anything,” she says. “If they know what's going on and wanted to blast me for that too, they would have done it already."

"Just know that people do pay attention." He sighs and makes a move for the door. "I've got to grab a shower and change."

"Should I be expecting to hear from Carolina, too?" she asks.

He turns. "I think so, yes. She sounded like she was more upset with York, though."

At least one of them is mad at the right person. "Fine, whatever. Just tell her to warn me before she comes over to give me a tongue-lashing."

"I think Carolina will show up when she wants." He's certainly not going to dictate things to her.

"Then I might not be here." There are other places on this ship she could be.

"You won't be able to hide forever, you know,” he says.

"Who said I was hiding?" she says.

He rolls his eyes. "Well, avoid, whatever. She'll find you sooner or later."

"She doesn't need to,” South says. “There's nothing for us to talk about."

"I don't think she sees it that way,” he says.

South scowls. "I don't need a babysitter."

"You don't. You do need a leader, though, and you need to listen to them." He twists the helmet in his hands. "I really...I have to get back, okay? I'll talk to you later."

She waves him off. "Yeah, fine. You'll know where to find me."

-

York swims up out of sleep. It takes a bit for the events of the day to come to him but once they do he groans. Right. That. Had sure been a thing. The sticks? He'd kind of seen that coming. Not his best work. But the options had been him or calling in Wash and the kid didn't need to get thrown in with Maine and Wyoming so damn soon. Especially against someone that could take three of them at once. The fight had been rough, he'd expected that—but the way the lockdown paint match ended? The live ammo.

The fucking grenade.

He'd always thought he and Maine were cool. No real love lost between him and Reggie, but Maine seemed to have at least a little compassion. After that, though...he's not going to go out of his way to do him any favors. Maybe throwing the matches with South have given them a poor opinion of him. Not that he can think any of this as doped up as he is, blinking through a blur that doesn't quite focus on one side.

There'd been a pain in his eye but—that was just the light, right? He's fine, isn't he?

A little more groaning and blinking and trying to just focus shows—

Shows nothing clear on his left.

Pure black and for a moment he's stiff with panic—reaches up to scrape at his—bandage? Bandage. Okay. Not blind. Just bandaged. He'll be fine. He has to be fine. He can't not be fine.

He has to be fine. He'll lose fucking everything if he can't do his job.

"Don't do that."

Something intervenes, the catch of fingers gloved in Kevlar around his wrist, thumb pressing against his palm. That she's on his blind side can't be helped with how the beds stationed at the ends of the room lie, but Carolina keeps her voice calm, expression concerned. He needs that more than strict orders. "You're safe, York,” she says. “You're in med recovery one. Don't touch your bandages. Just lie back." You're safe, I'm here, she doesn't say out loud.

Not alone—he should've known he wasn't alone but they're on his left and he can't see anything on that side. He flinches and catches back against her grip before getting a hold on himself. He has to _turn_ his head to see who it is and that scares the shit out of him. He can't not see out of one side. He needs both eyes. He needs to be on top of the game and he can't be her number two (fuck number three fuck texas fuck wyoming fuck maine fuck the director he should fucking bail what the fuck is this fighting on the front lines would be better than getting his eye blown up but they won't fucking take him if he's half blind—)

There's a moment where this, all of this shows on his face before he pastes on a smile. Shrugs and scrubs at his hair instead. Upset? Him? Never. "M'fine, boss."

"Don't be an idiot." Any other time, there might be a barb to Carolina’s words, but she doesn't let go of his hand, even as he attempts to pull away. "You've just had a serious operation, and you need to rest." He could have died, and Carolina is all too aware of that fact, just as she's aware there was nothing she could have done to stop it from happening. And she's just as aware that someone else would have been upset about that as well. As such, it's okay for York to be upset.

"Not my fault. Maine threw the grenade." For once, not his fuckup. All he did was try to cover Texas when what he should have done was get the fuck out of there. Abandoning his team or no, putting up with live fire on the training room floor is not something he signed on to do. Fuck them. Fuck them forever he can't see out of his left eye but it's just the bandage he can't see he can't see he can't see—

"I'm alive, I'll be fine." Even if his words are slurred. Even if he's breathing a little hard from the realization that he can't fucking see and he might not ever be able to again on that side no he's fine they're fine everything is fucking _fine_ because it has to be.

It has to.

"You've been out for hours,” Carolina says. ”Do you want something to drink?"

"Water?" he mutters. 

"Water it is. Don't move." She's reluctant to release his hand, though one would never know it to look at her, to see her straighten smoothly as she lets go and crosses the room to fetch a paper cup and fill it half way. The drugs will leave him woozy, even after being out for so many hours; sitting up won't be a good idea.

"Sure thing, boss." No moving. He can do that. Keep his hand locked up and tangled in the blanket and not reach up to rip off the bandage just so he could fucking see. He's fine. Not tense. Not moving. He's fine. He's angry but he's fine. He's fucking terrified but hey, also fine. He'll live. Just. Going to have to see what the damage is later.

Carolina barely manages to squeak into the cramped space on the other side of the bed—but she manages. It's important that he keep calm, and staying on the side that isn't wrapped in gauze will help. "Do you think you can tilt your body up, just a little?" She doesn't think so, but she knows York: he'll try anyway. To prove he's 'fine'. She'll move an arm to support him—his head or his shoulders, depending, and keep hold of the cup as he drinks.

He grunts as he tries to sway shuffle stagger into a sitting position, still flinching at movement he can't quite see. Up is up and she's supporting him and fuck the drugs he can handle this normally, fuck how they make him fuzzy. He grumbles inarticulate mutters into the water as he downs it.

The anger, the frustration, the fear. All normal when hurt, the instinct to lash out understandable. Carolina brushes her fingers soothingly at the back of his neck a moment, before ensuring he doesn't choke on the drips of water offered. He's not jolly or joking around. He's pale and sweating, and whatever injury lies beneath those bandages is a personal insult, for all the injury was done to him and not her. He shouldn't have been in that position in the first place.

Finally York flops back with a huff. "...how far did I drop on the leaderboard?"

Her lips thin at his question, but she doesn't dismiss or ignore it. She's made it personal policy not to lie to her squad. Not if she can help it.

"Wyoming's second." But he likely saw that coming. "You're down to sixth, though I know you. You won't stay down there long."

"Gonna knock knock him back down to fifth. Jackass." Can't even laugh at that, can't find anything funny in being half blind and doped to the gills. He can breathe, though. And wonder. He'll get his place back but—

how?

He's fine. They're fine. Dumbasses taking pointers from the director. Evil bastard putting live ammo in the hands of trained killers for what? To show off his newest recruit? Bullshit Texas is new. Something else is going on here and he can't think straight enough to put it all together, but he'll have time. No missions coming up for awhile. He's got time to recover.

But something’s missing. "Where's North?" he asks, turning his head again to try to spy out into the room.

If Carolina’s surprised at his question, it shows only in the cant of one eyebrow. "Getting a shower, maybe some food if not outright rest. I said I'd call him once you were awake."

Tension he didn't know had him locked up melts away. North's fine. North'll be here soon. "Well. I'm awake. Call him?"

She sets the cup aside. Reaches to take the hand twisted into the bedsheets, she leans in a little, all the better to lower her voice. Let the cameras and any watchers assume what they wanted.

"I will. Once you tell me why you've been throwing your matches."

"Wha—have not." Shit liar as always but he can blame the medication. He doesn't throw matches. He fights! Sometimes he does well, sometimes he does shit. That's his story and he's sticking to it.

There is a warning press of her fingers. You only get one lie, York, and it's clear from Carolina's expression she won't tolerate a second.

York averts his gaze. Not saying anything isn't lying, is it? It isn't. He's just gonna close his eye and steady his breathing and pretend she's not there. Maybe he'll pass out again. That'd be nice.

Carolina would be lying if she wasn't a little offended by the fact he won't answer her, won't give her the truth on this matter. Carolina is pretty certain she has most of it figured out anyway, but she'd have preferred to hear it from York.

"If I noticed you throwing your rounds against her, then you had better believe that someone in charge of the rankings did too." Her voice is low, words blunt. "You've done yourself no favors and South will never improve this way."

"Not like they give a shit about how things should go if they're handing out fucking grenades in the middle of a training exercise,” York says. “What was he saying? Ingenuity and adaptability? What's more fucking adaptable than blackmail?" Fuck he said a thing. No. No. That's all he's going to say, it's blackmail, he's handling it, nothing more need be mentioned.

"That was his decision," she says, which isn't a whisper, but it is sharp in the quiet—she doesn't agree with it, no, but Carolina isn't in a position where she can afford to overtly disagree on that. Still, there's no surprise to hear that blackmail is involved. "I'll take care of South."

"Like she'll listen." She doesn't even listen to Drew anymore. Why would she listen to Carolina?

"She'll listen,” Carolina says. “She has a lot more to worry about if it's coming from me." She'll let North have first crack, of course. And speaking of whom—

Carolina’s free hand reaches forwards, lightly brushing back York's hair where it isn't sandwiched by gauze and bandage. "North said there wouldn't be any problems." She cants her head at him. Not going to make a liar out of your boyfriend, are you, York?

"...Are we having problems?" There are no problems here. Not from him. Wait why would North have spoken to her does she know? She knows. _Shit._

There's a long moment of silence, before she allows herself a fond smile, brushing his brow again. "I should know better than to ask you obvious questions when you're still drugged," she says ruefully.

She knows. "I'll go call North." And doesn't seem to have a problem with it.

"Please? I—" He wants to see him. He can't quite squash the need coiling in his gut to know North's all right, even if he wasn't caught in the blast.

She squeezes his fingers again, before letting go, giving a nod. Stepping away to call North takes less than a couple of minutes, with it being North's turn to be reassured—but with a quiet warning about the amount of drugs likely still in York's system. That task complete, she moves back to the bed, settling in beside him. "I'll stay until North gets here," she murmurs. The Boss has to keep an eye on her teammates after all.

"Mmkay." The adrenaline from his initial panic has faded, leaving him floaty and warm and oh god they have him on the good stuff, don't they? He needs to try to not talk.

Not that it works. "You're a good leader," he says. He reaches out to tap her hand. "Seriously."

"I try to be," is her dry reply as he pats at her. He seems to be relaxing bit by bit now; hopefully that won't mean he'll be passed out again by the time North arrives.

"Really are. Wouldn't work half as well if we didn't have you leadin’." They only function because there's someone that won't take their shit and will push them to do better. That's the only reason.

"All this flattery isn't going to stop you getting your ass handed to you once you're out of here, just so you know," she teases, patting his hand lightly. Helping him work back up is something she's willing to do, even if her father takes such a thing as an act of spite—and maybe it is. "Need any more water?

"Not flattery if it's the truth," he mumbles, pulling himself up just a little so he wouldn't have to lean on her for the next round of water. "Please? Throat's all sore."

There's a Look, one warning him not to overexert himself as she moves off to refill the paper cup, and she's still ready to provide support on her return; Carolina will be keeping hold of the cup, if nothing else.

North comes in the room then, refreshed and ready to focus on York in his return. He hadn’t been in a panic or anything when Carolina sent him away, but she'd given him some constructive things to focus his attention on, which was good—it helped him keep him from worrying overmuch.

After his talk with South he'd headed to the showers, then to the common room to try to dredge up some kind of palatable snack out of the cabinet there. With everything being freeze-dried or desiccated or shelf-stable, the pickings were slim and he ended up just grabbing a bag of dried apricots. He'd barely dug into it when she called him and he set the bag back on the counter, uncharacteristically leaving it lay as he turned to go. He had trusted Carolina to be there with York, and he knew York was at least well enough to be in recovery, but he now regretted missing York's awakening.

He didn't rush there, but he didn't pause either, made his way by the shortest route and went straight into the room after peeking in the observation window. There York was, awake, leaning on Carolina, who was giving him a drink of water.  "Is there anything else you need?" Carolina was asking.

"Reggie's mustache." He's going to shave the sucker off, York thinks. Again. Because this is insane. Everything he went through to cover them when it's not even his fucking job and they pull this? Oh he's mad. Just. Not right now everything is kind of soft edged and nice and fuzzy—

"Leave his moustache alone," Carolina replies, keeping amusement at that thought to a minimum. Annoyed as she was at Wyoming, doing something that petty wouldn't make things right again.

North’s approach is to York's left, the side that’s bandaged. "Taylor," he says when he’s halfway across the room.

Even with the drugs in his system York tenses up when he can't see Drew when he hears him. He turns his head (god it sucks that he has to do that) and offers a wobbly smile. "Hey babe."

Carolina rolls her eyes heavenwards, a sigh escaping her. "He's been muttering nicknames for everyone," she says, a little too loudly, gaze briefly flicking overhead, before back to North, "which we can blame the drugs for, I think. Did you get something to eat?"

North had suspected that Carolina was at least on the way to working things out, and her reaction to that seemed to confirm it. "You know how he is with them," he says, reaching York's bedside. He sets his hand on the edge of the bed, just close enough to York's for their little fingers to brush together, and spends a moment just looking at York's face, concern puckering his brow just slightly. "No; nothing to eat," he says absently. "Grabbed something but then you called me."

"I'll make sure there's something left in your quarters," says Carolina, gently pulling her hand away from York’s grasp.

York blinks at North, squeezing Carolina's hand before letting go. He can't hold North's but he can just. Rest their fingers together like that for a moment. There's something he wants to say but he can't say it right now. Cameras. Eyes. Ears in the walls. Wait, why are there ears in the walls? "Carolina, there are ears in the walls." This is important for some reason. He doesn't know why but she needs to know so she can do something about it.

"There are,” Carolina says. “So mind your manners." FILSS listens to her, to an extent, so: "...I'll handle it. If you either of two need anything..." For a moment, her lips quirk, before she pats York's hand, then North's arm. Handing over watch, if only temporarily.

"Thanks." North isn't near as brash as York is, especially now with the reminder that people are paying attention; he's unlikely to bend and kiss York as York did when he was in the infirmary. Instead he waits until Carolina has left to hook his last two fingers over York's. "Tell me how you're feeling?" he says, tilting his head slightly before deciding not to reach out with his other hand to push back the shock of York's hair on his forehead that isn't covered by bandage.

"Pretty good." Wow, yeah, feeling really good. He wiggles the fingers caught by North and offers him the full on sappy, stupid grin he'd been suppressing since he woke up. He's fine. North's fine. He needs to not say stupid shit so...

Well, they're both gonna be in trouble there. "Floaty. I'm on the good stuff. Like when I cracked all my ribs landing wrong forever ago."

North chuckles a little, returning the wiggle with a couple strokes of his fingers. "I'm familiar."

York drops his voice to a whisper, not that it's as soft as he thinks it is. "Drew. Drew. I think she knows." She had brought up the thing with South and he knows they should probably talk about that. Now is not the best time but it's on his mind so out it comes. "Your sister is evil, ‘kay? Got me in trouble."

Oh, he can't help it—North looks around to make sure no one's around before scooting his hand a little closer and turning it over to slip underneath York's palm. "Pretty sure she worked it out when I was waiting here earlier," he mutters. "And yeah, it was because of South."

"Y'not mad?" At him for not saying anything. It's okay if North is mad, York thinks. North's only ever mad when he does dumb things. He does dumb things a _lot_. Doesn't stop him from clinging to North's hand like it'll make everything better.

"Mmh,” North mutters. “Never said that." He just hadn’t been planning to bring it up now.

"Fff. She cornered me. Didn't want you t'get in trouble," York mumbles, thumb rolling across North's knuckles. "Doan be mad?"

North sighs. "We'll talk about it later." He didn't want this to be the topic of conversation right now, especially as it was starting to appear York may fall back to sleep shortly.

"Mmkay. M'sorry." And he is. He should've told North instead of giving in to South but—the newness of it, how wary he'd been of pushing, he didn't want things to be too strange.

"I know." Not much to be done about it now. "I'm just glad you're okay." At least, relatively.

"So far. Gonna haveta wait and see 'bout the bandage." He's not feeling too confident, though. It's not promising that he can't really feel his eye properly.

North gives a small squeeze of York's hand. "You let me know right away after they tell you what's going on, all right?"

"Mm-hmm. 'course." Once he's got an answer he'll let everyone know. There's no real way to tell what shape he's gonna be in until, well. Till he's out. There's a few days until that happens but he's got time to at least poke at the bandage when no one's looking and gauge the damage. It shouldn't be that bad.

Should it?

"Drew—" He can't quite articulate that small anxiety that he won't be able to pull himself back up the board. "We're good. Right?"

"Oh, Taylor...of course we are." If only, if only he could just drag his fingertips along York's jawline, set his hand reassuringly on his shoulder; if only he could nudge his hip up onto the edge of the bed and perch there to allow York to cuddle him; if only he could give York the kind of contact he knows York will need to feel fully reassured and at ease. Because he knows York and he knows how York benefits from feeling connected. All he can do, instead, is offer him hollow reassurances like these with nothing concrete to back them up.

Instead he just lets go of York's hand to curl his fingers underneath York's palm and stroke the skin there, lightly.

Anyone else and York wouldn't buy it. Not with just the words. He needs more than that, he's always needed more than that—but it's Andrew. It's Andrew and they're closer than they should be, closer than they've ever been, and he knows he means it. That they're good. If they weren't he'd say something. North's not one to keep secrets—well.

Not the important ones.

He squeezes back weakly, blinking a little as consciousness starts to fade. "We'll talk when 'mout. Right?"

"Yeah. We'll talk about everything." He’d talk about anything with Taylor, just knowing he’s all right.

"Mmkay. Doan be mad." Please don't be mad. He doesn't like it when North's mad at him. There's one more weak squeeze before his eyes drop closed and he's done. Out like a light.

North slowly withdraws his hand and sits in the nearby chair. He waits until after shift change, when gamma shift begins, to bend and kiss York gently on the lips. He’s going to have to keep his regular schedule tomorrow. He lets that be his farewell before leaving.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, so good was overselling it. He can't focus on holographic locks the same way he used to, the shapes all blurred on one side when he needs them clear, his aim off by just enough to be worrying—driving the damn warthog had been an exercise in absolute restraint while driving as fast as humanly possible. None of them know.

Medical knows. But the rest of them? Just saw the helmet. Whole and good and he's fine. He can drive, he can shoot, he can work locks, he can do his part on the damn op and get everyone home safe. So what if he's got a blind spot on his left. So what if anything coming at him from that direction makes him flinch. He did his job. They got the sarcophagus, got the briefcase, mission accomplished. It's fine. Team B got extracted and he's going to strip down in the locker room and head to his quarters to pop some overdue pain pills and try not to freak out about how easy it would have been to twitch one fucking muscle and send the lot of them flying into the wrong side of traffic.

He's over it. He's fine. They're all fine. Except Maine—he's shot in the throat and god that'll take longer for them to get over. First North, then him, now Maine—things are getting worse. York can't quite shake the feeling that they aren't going to get any better.

But he's fine. He's cracking jokes and careful to keep his left tilted away from anyone as he strips down. Doesn't want them to see the cataract still full of blood. The fresh shine of scars. How he's crippled on one side and shouldn't have been out there in the first place. He's fine.

For North the previous days had been consumed with gauging how much he could visit York without arousing too much suspicion, and acting accordingly. He'd not yet seen York without his bandages, so he didn't know the extent of York's injury. He only knew that the doctors had seen fit for his eye to remain bandaged for this long.

He hadn't thought anything of it when he'd stopped by early that day to inform York he'd be away on a mission, and wouldn't be able to visit later because of it. He'd never imagined York would take that as a reason to slip away before being discharged.

So North had been concerned when York made his appearance like that during the briefing. But being the leader of Team Bravo meant he didn't have the time to spare worrying about it. York was a big boy, and would have to be allowed to make his own mistakes. All North could hope was that it wouldn't endanger him, and more importantly, the mission as a whole.

Extraction was chancy, but they made it, arriving less than an hour after Team Alpha. He has no reason to doubt York's fitness for going along on the mission—though he’s irritated at York for leaving medical a day before he was set to be cleared, he assumes the outcome of the treatment is favorable. Otherwise why would the Director have agreed to have him along? The Pelican pulls into the bay and North makes his way to the locker room along with Wyoming and CT. There’s always post-mission banter, a nervous response, borne out of relief that everything’s over and done with. He’s replying to something CT said when he catches sight of York, who’s returning to his locker after his shower. His voice doesn’t falter, he makes sure of that, but his eyes through his helmet are locked on York's face.

Fresh, bright red scars dominate his left cheek; and his eye, oh god. North wants to approach him and take his hand and cup the back of his head and just, he doesn’t know if he wants to express his relief that he'd made it out or anger that he'd gone on the mission in the first place. But he can’t do any of that. He goes to his locker, peeling off his helmet and his gloves and gauntlets, before beginning to speak, eyes locked on the shelf inside his locker.

"I heard things were rough on Team Alpha."

"Not that bad,” York says. “Got our objective and yours handled, didn't we? What happened to Team Bravo anyway?" A slip up is kind of understandable but with North running point it shouldn't have gone sideways. Something must have gone wrong. Bad intel? Maybe. They weren't told about the extra equipment. Or the jetpacks. Now Maine's in recovery and god only knows how long or well that's going to go. He makes a note to check in on him and—maybe it's kind of dickish, keeping his face tipped away from North. But he's allowed. He hates the way it looks. Hates that he's half blind. Hates that he's lost his fucking skill set that was so bone-deep ingrained into him because of a fucking grenade. By the time he catches on that his hands are shaking he's already dug his nails into his palms. Damnit. He wipes them on his thighs to soothe them and flashes a half smirk at North. Maybe he'll grow his hair out. Hide the scarring.

Though the glimpse North had gotten of York's face had been brief, the image of it is burned into his mind. But there’s nothing for it—he can’t get a closer look until later. He starts in on his leg plates as they continue to talk. "They took us out," he says simply. "Shot out a tire. Wyoming couldn't compensate for the drag at the speed we were going—flipped the car, caught it on fire. It was a mess."

"You guys made it out okay though, right? No real injuries?" Connie looked fine. Wyoming—fuck him, York didn't really care about the Brit much at all right now. He could be KIA and York might very well send whoever shot him a card.

"Just some bumps,” North says. “Wyoming was out cold for a couple minutes there but he recovered enough to make it through." He's pulling his chest piece off now, removing the last of the armor plates.

Well, damn. So much for that hope. York finishes rearranging everything in his locker so he can see it without having to turn his head for the third or fourth time—there's always something he's forgotten, then there'll be the debrief and everyone will see—after that...there will probably be yelling in his future. "Wanna grab something to eat later? My treat."

That means York's room tonight. As long as North agrees—sometimes the offer is made and he declines, since they need to be circumspect about how often they spend the night. "Yeah," he says. "I probably won't have much of an appetite, though."

Yeah. Yelling. Lots of yelling. "That's fine,” York replies. “I'm a little strapped for cash." Not in the mood for much. He just wants to hold and be held can they skip the arguing? Please?

"Works out, then." North sighs and checks the time. "I'll meet you for the debriefing after my shower."

"See you then." He waves North off, locks up and goes to—fuck he doesn't even know. He wasn't supposed to be out yet and he can't sneak back into recovery. Doesn't want to bother Carolina. Can't bother Wash. Hiding doesn't become him—

He needs coffee.

For however long he's got after that talk and before the debriefing he lingers in the mess, sipping a mug of coffee, trying not to show off the damn scar that he's learning to live with. Seems like he's got no time at all before he has to finish up and head to the war room to discuss what happened. Getting dressed down for tripping the alarm is not something he's looking forward to. "Sorry, Sir, but I'm half-fucking-blind because of your fucking choices" doesn't seem like it'd win him any favors.

The debriefing is a lot like the last one North had participated in—the Director allows the board to reshuffle before addressing the various things that had gone wrong. North gets his own talking-to, as the leader of Team B, for their failure to carry out their objective.

This is the first he hears about York's tripping the alarm. That explains why the enemy knew to come after them. They must have realized there was intel on the briefcase. Once they're released from attention he files with the rest of the crew to the mess. He gets a tray and sits down at his and York's usual table.

He should skip dinner and just go, York thinks. Down some pills and curl up until North decides to swing by. But that'd be abnormal behavior and everything needs to be normal. So he takes his exhausted and increasingly frustrated ass to the mess, gets a tray of—something. There is food. Food is involved. And settles across from North.

"Hey."

"Hey." Normal, North thinks, he needs to act normal. Never mind that now he can see the full glory of York's scarring, that he wants to forget the stupid petty small talk they're going to be forced to engage in, that he wants to grab him and hold him and berate him for being so foolish. He holds York's gaze for a number of seconds, his head tilting forward slightly, and he presses his lips into a line for a moment. Then he rubs his forehead, clears his throat, and lowers his gaze to investigate the portion that had been placed on his tray. Everything he can think to say is something that needs to wait until they're alone. "Are you cleared for full duty?" he finally asks. He didn't figure York would be allowed to lift yet.

"Nope. Not even cleared for light duty until tomorrow." Did that stop him from suiting up to help with the op? No. Better a half-blind locksmith than a rookie working out of a field manual. Wash is good at what he does—but what he does isn't lockpicking. York doesn't regret it. Even if he's still surprised he's managed as much as he had while half blind.

Oh, yes. Tomorrow. The day York was actually supposed to be released from the infirmary. That day. "Well," North says. "Connie's been spotting for me, I'm sure she won't mind that continuing for a while."

"She's a bro that way." Also, deceptively strong. Connie scares him a little in that everyone keeps forgetting how capable she is. It's kinda. Strange, really, that she's never on the leaderboard.

"Yeah." North was awfully sure she'd worked out what was going on between him and York, but if she had she was keeping it to herself. "She asks about you."

"Oh?" York hadn't expected that. "Well everyone knows I'm good now."

North glances up at York's face. "They do?"

"They saw me at work. If I can work, I'm fine. Also I'm back to my number two—number three slot. So." He shrugs. Wyoming and Maine can't keep him down long.

Anything North wants to say to that will have to wait. Which means he has nothing to say. He continues to eat for a moment, then pushes his tray away. "I was right...not much of an appetite."

"I'm not cleared for the weight room and I'm kinda beat so I'm gonna turn in," York says. He'll keep the door unlocked for North whenever he wants to swing by. Which'll be— Well. Whenever.

"All right. We'll catch you later." North waits until York's out of the mess hall before he gets up to dispose of his tray. Following right after York could be a little risky but it's not like he does it often. It can't be too much longer after York goes to his room that North opens the door and slips inside.

York's on his bed, lights dim, curled on his right side, trying hard not to focus too much on the side that he can't...focus. It's frustrating. He's almost relieved when North shows up. "Hey."

North comes over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it with one leg curled under him so that he's facing York's prone figure. "Hey," he says, tangling his fingers together with York's.

York squeezes North's hand, twisting to look up at him with his good eye. Fuck. He's got a good eye and a bad eye now. Jesus. "Go ahead. Get it over with."

North cups York's chin with his free hand and rubs the jaw line with his thumb. "What you did today was incredibly stupid."

"It needed to happen,” York says. “Wash isn't as good at picking locks, we got the job done. I don't regret it." Even if it was stupid.

North frowns. "You ended up at the wheel of a car doing a hundred miles an hour," he says. "You endangered your team. And you're not even cleared for light duty yet—you could have done something permanent to make that injury worse." Because as much as he's going to pay lip service to it being about the team, it's really about York.

"I'm already half blind. How the fuck could it get worse?" And that's the crux of it. This isn't about the fucking team, it's about him, how he's half blind because of the _fucking_ team, and he's expected to grin and bear it and keep on for the good of, guess what, the motherfucking team.

North flattens the line of his mouth, brow drawing closer together, but he doesn't protest what York's had to say, because it's true. "Look, it's one thing for you to be out there in peak condition. If something happens, well, that's what happens, and I'll have to live with it." He moves his hand to the back of York's head. "Don't make me worry more than I should have to."

"Are we having this talk the other way around? Really?" The 'don't worry about me, don't make me worry' talk that they went through when North got shot? York has it and it's too clingy but here's North making it sound so fucking reasonable and mature. For a second he's ready to fucking yell at him for being hypocritical before he just. Sags into the bed.

Fine. Fine, fucking fine.

"We're soldiers, Andrew,” York says. “This is what we signed on for."

Ah, but no, this is an entirely different situation, North thinks. "You need to listen to the doctors, Taylor. That's part of being a soldier too. Were you even supposed to take that bandage off when you did?"

"Like one more day with the damn thing on will change the fact that I'm functionally blind in one eye," York mutters, curling tighter on his side.

North has to let his hand uncurl from the back of York's head when he does that. He watches York for a moment before letting go of York's hand and leaning in to wrap his arm around him. "We can stop now," he murmurs. "Come here."

York doesn't say anything—there's nothing for him to say. He's blind in one eye. He will never get that vision back ever again. One eye is ruined forever. The more he thinks about it the tighter he feels wound up, but he goes. Leans in to North and squeezes his eyes shut and he's not going to fucking cry, he's not.

North rubs York's back, scooting forward a bit and nudging York to lay his head on his lap. "Whatever you need," he says. "I'm here."

It's an awkward moment before York slides up and rests his cheek against Norths' leg, trying not to think about it. If he keeps both eyes closed it's not as obvious. "...He fucking yelled at me for being blind when it's his fucking _fault_ I can't see anymore."

There's nothing about that statement North can or will dispute. He keeps rubbing York's back, studying the scabs that cover York's left cheek. God, if he could just...kiss it away, or something, he would do that. But there's nothing he can do but be here and listen and try to be soothing.

"Everyone keeps fucking staring." He could wear a patch. Or a bandage. It felt like letting them win. He's never been very vain but he thinks he's allowed to hate the cataract and the scar. For what they represent. For what it's taken from him.

"Forget them,” North says. “Your real friends—me, Carolina, Connie—won't treat you any differently because of this. You're still my York."

"...say that again?" York mutters. It makes it a little bit better. To know he's North's. That Drew still cares despite the stupid shit he did.

North squeezes York's shoulder. "You have friends, real friends, here. We're not going to forget the real you. Who you are, what you like, what you want out of life. That hasn't changed."

That's also nice to hear. He manages a tight smile, rolling up to look Andrew in the eye. "I mean. The other thing too. Your York."

Oh. North smiles gently and cups York's chin with his hand. "You're mine. I love you."

Oh. That. That York didn't expect but it—it almost makes things better. York hooks an arm around North's shoulders to pull himself into a kiss, clinging to him hard. Together is one thing. Dating is one thing. Love—he knows he loves North and he just didn't have a good time to say it. Now. Now's good.

North adjusts the way he's hanging on to York, wrapping his arms around him, and breathes in the scent of him. York only wears this scent after missions, after his shower, and North has come to love that as much as anything about him. The press of his lips against York's lingers, and he's slow to pull away—in fact, no, he's not going to pull away. As soon as the kiss breaks he takes a quick breath and renews it again, bringing his hand to cup York's right cheek, stroking with his thumb.

This. This is what York needed. Not the slide of skin on skin, just the sensation of being held. Of being surrounded by Andrew. Cradled and cherished, that reminder that he's worth something more than what the Director finds in him. That he's more than a soldier. He pulls and twists until he's straddling North's lap and hanging on tight, kissing slow and sweet and desperate for a little more. "Love you too."

North shifts to set both feet on the floor, to avoid ending up in an awkward position. "I guess we're even then," he mutters, rubbing along York's waist.

"Yeah. Yeah we are." He nuzzles into the side of North's neck, and he might be shaking just a little. Trembling. He hasn't really had a moment to just—process. While drugged up it was impossible for him to and then there was the op and then the debrief and now. Now it's just them.

And he can let go.

North can't help noticing. He brings both hands to York's back, sliding them around to grip him at the waist. He's not going to assure York it's okay or offer him any platitudes. Because it's not okay; there's no slapping a smile on this one. "No matter what," he says. He moves one hand to stroke through York's hair and turns his head slightly to rest the side of his chin against York's head. "You can let it out."

"Not gonna cry," York mumbles into North's shoulders. Soldiers don't cry. They get back up and keep moving. They don't have time to cry, let alone over an injury. He's fine. It doesn't hurt as much anymore and that worries him more than it's a relief. Pain is a sign of healing. Numbness is...

He might be crying. Just a little. He might be shaking a little more than he's crying. God damn it this is not how the Project was supposed to go.

"Okay," North whispers. He knows York's doing it anyway but if he needs to keep his pride on this one North's definitely not going to call him out on it. He just keeps rubbing York's back and stroking the back of his neck.

He's fine. He's fine, he's fine he's—a fucking mess is what he is. He could've gotten them all killed. He almost got North killed—if tripping the alarm is what got their cover blown that's on him. That's all on him. If he'd been able to do his fucking job Maine would still be able to speak, the objectives would've been completed and Carolina wouldn't have gotten run the fuck over by a big rig.

Jesus christ they all could've died. He clings. He clings because he can't not. Buries his face in North's neck and ignores the tears as they come. "It was a simple holographic lock,” York says. “More layers of encryption than I'm used to but I can do those fucking things in my sleep and I tripped the alarm because I couldn't focus on half the shapes." He's less, now. He knows he's less, even if he grabbed that old slot again.

North hugs back with the same force, turning his head to kiss York on the forehead. "You got in," North says. "That does count for something." It would take practice, but he felt that proved York could get back to the same level of competence that he had once achieved.

"I'm gonna have to run drills,” York says. “Learn to compensate for my blind side. Need more motion trackers or just leave 'em all on the left because I can't fucking work if i'm watching my left the whole damn time—" So many changes he's going to have to make and for what? How is _this_ going to win them the war?

North nudges York with his shoulder to sit up so that he can press a kiss to his mouth. "We'll work up a plan. I'll help you. Whatever you need."

"I'm gonna need eyes on my left till I get used to this." Suddenly the idea of taking a break, of getting that leave time they both wanted so badly seems—well. Kind of dumb. He needs to train up.

North brings his hand around from the back of York's head to stroke the growth of beard on York's chin. "You, me, and FILSS. We'll work up some training exercises just for you."

"Oh god, that's another thing," York grumbles, tilting his face into North's hand. "Shaving. Haven't even thought of it." He's going to cut his own throat. Fantastic.

"It's a good look for you." North’s smile is subtle, not sure if teasing York will help things. He could get away with keeping it here in the Project, if he really wanted. North kind of thinks he won't though.

"Really? Scruffy space marine does it for you?" Still it—between the scar and the beard York's a little relieved that North doesn't mind it. That actually twists the first real laugh out of him since he woke up drugged and half blind.

North moves his hand to cup York's jaw, still stroking the beard with his thumb. "I'll help you with it." He didn't think that would look too intimate to the others—it would be just one best friend helping another get over a hurdle.

The idea of North helping is—interesting. Very interesting. Enough that York has to shift his weight a little to keep things chill. "Well, what do you know, I'm not going to be that comfortable shaving myself for the next...forever. Damn. Looks like you'll have to do it for me."

Teasing had definitely been the way to go. North smiles. "That's too bad. I guess you're stuck with me for the next forever."

"Well, damn. Guess I'll just have to get used to it." York tips his head forward, rubbing their noses together. This is—bearable. He's fine. He can work up his skills again. He's got North. It'll be okay.

"I'm sure you'll manage." North presses a kiss to York's cheek. "Don't want to be too much of a burden on you."

"You're never a burden, Drew." He turns just enough to catch Andrew's lips in something a little less chaste. "Ever."

"Mm." North licks his lip to enjoy the lingering taste of the kiss. "And you aren't either. Remember that." He didn't want York thinking North would ever have a problem helping him out from now on.

"...That's gonna take a little work. But I'll try." It's easy to remember when they're like this. Bound up together close and cozy and comfortable. Less so when they're out around everyone else.

"If you're having trouble remembering I'll remind you,” North says. “As much as it takes." And he'd be patient with him. He couldn't imagine how hard this was going to be on him.

"Thanks, Drew. I'm gonna try to not but—no promises, you know?" For the moment he's as good as he's gonna get, curled up tight in North's lap.

"I know. Don't worry about it." North had plenty to worry about without adding that on top. He strokes York's cheek again. "You want to go ahead and get this thing shaved now? No one going to be in the locker room, probably." If they waited until morning everyone would be in there suiting up for the day.

"Best way to avoid getting stared at, yeah,” York says. “We don't need rumors—" Oh. Wait. The other thing. He tilts his head. "...you're not mad about the South thing, are you?" In light of all the other stupid shit he's done in the past few days, it doesn't seem to quite measure up.

North just kept right on stroking York's cheek. "I think I've yelled at you enough today."

"So you'll yell at me about that tomorrow." Which is a fair guess to make.

"What, you want me to get it over with?" North says.

"Yeah, I do." York rests his cheek against North's shoulder and waits for it. He'll have sound reasoning. It always does.

North’s jaw set. Trust York to bring something like this up when he'd been feeling so affectionate. "All you did was make it more likely for someone to notice something. We're lucky Carolina decided not to say something. And South? She wouldn't have said anything. She knew it would implicate me. And I don't want her learning she can just find shortcuts to improving on the leaderboard standings. The whole point is to gauge our competence in battle."

"She wouldn't have said shit about you,” York says. “But you know she'd have been more than happy to bring me down a few pegs. Getting me kicked out for breaking regs would've been fine by her." He's not bringing up all the contraband he brought in for her. That'd just make things worse. "If it's a question of competence CT would be on there and Wyoming wouldn't. I don't know what the hell that thing is anymore but it's not just 'gauging battle competence.'"

North sighs. "There have to be things we don't know about them. I don't want to speculate on that."

"Someone should," York says. But. Not them, maybe.

North pauses for a long time, returning to rubbing York's back. "You should have told me," he finally says quietly. "When she came to you about it."

"...Didn't seem like something that needed to be told,” York said. “I had it handled." Sure it sucked but he did take care of it in the long run. No need to worry North about...anything.

"I could argue you didn't, but that's not the point." He kisses at York's ear. "It was something we should have handled together. Something I could have helped you with."

"You don't fuck around with a guy's family, North. If that means taking my lumps, sure, I can do it." It's sweet but—okay maybe part of him wasn't all that sure that North would take his side on this. Family is family, all that. He's never had a sibling, they have rules, right? Right.

"Once again, not the point." North sighs. "Next time something happens I want you to talk to me. That's the point.”

"It wasn't worth talking about but—okay." Another shrug. Not like it'll be worth talking about next time—he's a grown-ass man, he can handle his own shit.

“Please do,” North says. Then he nudges York’s hip. "Let's go get you that shave."

York sighs and nuzzles closer to North's neck, happy to be held for a little while longer. "Mkay. I'll grab my razor," he says, making no move to leave North's lap.

"At some point," North says, amused.

"Eventually." Right now this? This is good. This is the most relaxed he's been since the incident.

North breathed in a whiff of York's hair. "You smell good."

"Mm?” York replies. “Just some shampoo. Wait till you smell my aftershave. S'fucking amazing."

"You think I've never noticed?" North bends his head to kiss at York's neck—his hairy neck, eesh. "I always like the way you smell," he says, straightening again.

It tickles, North’s breath on his neck, enough to wring out another soft laugh. "Time to shave, I think. Unless you want me laughing the whole time we make out."

"Yeah, let's go," North says. "We should be good to walk down together I think."

York gives North one last good squeeze before sliding off his lap, stepping away to grab for his shaving kit on the nightstand. He doesn't miss! So that's a win. "Yeah, no one's paying attention right now."

North slips out the door ahead of York and starts for the locker room. On the way it occurs to him how they've never been able to walk along holding hands like a normal couple. It's a shame, the things they've had to miss out on. As they're approaching the entrance he glances over at York. "I was right, nobody around."

"Everyone's sleeping off the mission." It had been kind of a rough op from the get go. But they'd all come home. That or they're all waiting on Maine. He knows Carolina probably is. He can't quite reach forward to snag North's hand but as soon as they hit the locker room where there aren't any cameras? He walks right up to rest his forehead against his back. "Pick somewhere?"

The sinks are beyond the banks of lockers, and after reaching back to pat York's side he heads for the last sink before the shower room. "Here," he says, putting his hand out for the shaving kit. "I'll lather you up."

York, without question or hesitation, sets the kit in North's hand and sidles up next to the sink. Anyone else? He'd flinch away from in a heartbeat. But it's North. North wouldn't hurt him. Ever. "Go right ahead."

North gets the shaving cream out and sets the kit on the counter. His touch is light as he spreads it on York's neck and face. "There," he says, and rinses his hand off. Then he fills the sink, gets out the razor, and puts his hand on York's shoulder to steady him. "I'll start on your right," he says. "Get you used to how it feels."

"It's a little weird, not doing it myself," York says. He goes tense every time that hand slides onto the left, into that new blind spot, but he doesn't flinch away.

North rubs York's shoulder briefly. "I'm going to take my time, but you tell me if you need me to take a break or anything. All right?"

"Shave away, man. I trust you." York reaches up to squeeze North's wrist before tipping his head back and letting the man work.

He starts with York's neck, methodically swiping the razor in even lines and rinsing the razor between passes. The right cheek and chin are easy enough. "Okay, left side," he says. It's going to be tricky; the scabs on York's face extend right down into the area where his new beard is growing. He pauses, and switches the razor to his other hand so that he can trace his finger lightly down the red lines, to wipe the shaving cream away. He doesn't want to swipe the razor right down over them.

Somewhere between the third swipe and the last York's mind kind of hazes out—focusing instead on the sensation of the razor being dragged along his jaw and throat instead of worrying about getting cut. It's sort of a zen space, everything else soft edged and muzzy. Not quite like being drugged but—hormones. Sensation. He blinks a little at the swipe of a finger along his scars, coming out of it just a bit. "Mmm?"

North rubs York's shoulder again. "Doing okay?"

"Mm-hmm. M'doing great,” York says. “This is...really nice. When I get the hang of this I should do you sometime." Shave him, that is. Or do him. Both's good.

North smiles faintly. "I'd like that." He starts on shaving York's left now, starting below his sideburn and dragging down along his jaw.

"So would I. It's real relaxing." He tilts his head to accommodate North, shivering a little at the drag on that side. He can't see it, can't guess at where it's going to be.

North can tell York is telling the truth about trusting him; he doesn't flinch once, doesn't do anything but move his head to accommodate the work of North's hands. "Late nights seem to work for this." No one has passed by in the time they've been here.

"Everyone's sleeping." Which York would want to do if his attention wasn't kind of dragged elsewhere every time North swipes along that razor.

This the delicate part, the part North's saved for last—he needs to maneuver the razor right along the edges of the scabs on York's face without catching them. In order to make sure his hand is steady he moves his other hand to press it against York's right cheek, cupping his jaw, and moving his face closer to York’s. "Don't talk for a second," he says.

"M’kay." He keeps as still as possible, breathing slow and even so as not to jar North's hand. It's right along his scar, that still fresh, scabbed over skin and it should hurt. Should, but doesn't.

Once last rinse of the razor and a final pass to pick up any stray hairs and he's done. "There," North says, stepping back to give York the space he needs to step up to the sink. "You can rinse off."

While North waits for that he walks to the end of the row of sinks and peeks past the banks of lockers. No one here. Just as he'd thought. This was stupid and risky but...as soon as York's done putting on his aftershave North approaches him from behind, wrapping an arm around his chest and kissing the back of his head. The sight of them together like this in the mirror...he'd just like to stare at this for a while.

It'll always feel weird, York thinks, not having any way to see what's going on with one half of his face. He flinches with his own hands where he hadn't with North's and that's never not going to be weird. "Mm?" He leans back against North and just. Settles. It's not as complete of a picture as he'd like but it's a better picture than he's ever really had before. "...I think I found out where we're gonna be for leave. We can grab a room at a B&B real cheap, far from where anyone else is gonna be."

It's one thing to know for a fact they won't be seen; it's by far another to be unsure whether they might be heard. "Good," North mutters. "Hush now." He gives York a squeeze before slowly letting go. It had been nice for at least a moment to pretend it didn't matter, though. Very nice.

Right. Walls have ears. No one's around but...right. Gotta get back to his room first. York pushes away from the sink and heads back to the hall. He's pretty sure North'll spend the night with him. It's risky, but he's feeling cocky—he brushes his fingers along North's side as he passes. Just to let him know he wants him to follow.

North knows what it means, knows also that they need to be sure to arrive separately, so he hangs around the locker room for another little while, taking the time to brush his teeth and rearrange his locker a bit—not that it needs it. When he's sure it's okay he heads off and returns to York's room, shutting the door behind him and going right away to York's side to take him in his arms. "We hardly were apart but I missed you the whole time."

York settles in at North's side, tangling his fingers in his shirt to tug him that much closer. "We might be just a little codependent." Just a little. And yet he can't really mind. It beats trying to handle himself on his own all the time and he might just lean on North a little more now that he's like. Well. This. This is good. This is right and exactly how he wants to be.


	9. Chapter 9

Getting time off is a rare treat for the Freelancers. Sometimes it's a day. Sometimes a weekend. Somehow, something has either gone wrong in the MOI that it needs extended repairs, or someone really loves them, because they've got five, count them, _five_ unprecedented days of leave time. It's not the most impressive place to settle in for some R &R, but it's perfect.

Everyone knows North tends to keep to himself on leave. And York's taken the time to play up the grumpy 'don't look at me don't talk to me I just fucking want to be alone' angle of being recently injured enough (it's not entirely an act he's fucking tired of the hovering) that no one thinks twice about the two of them just...vanishing till it's time to go. Every other Freelancer's up in the bar and party district while York's sent North a private message about a B&B fifty miles outside of town to ensure absolute privacy.

They have pie. Fresh fruit pie. He is in the restaurant devouring some of the best pie he's had in years around the time that North shows up.

Given the amount of time they have available for this leave, North normally would have made plans to hang out with South at least one of the evenings. She seems suspicious when he begs off, but she doesn't say anything about it. They seem to have a general agreement about the fact that while South doesn't really approve of his being with York, she doesn't say anything about it and North doesn't bring it up, either. But North also knows she won't say anything to anyone else. They've made that aspect of things clear.

It's nice that Freelancers have so much disposable income when it comes to having leave time—in this case, North decides to drop the dough to get himself a rental car. He heads up that evening, arriving just before sunset, and enters the building. It's kind of big for a B&B but all the better for anonymity, he thinks. The person at the desk in the lobby points him in the direction of the restaurant, and he ducks in the doorway.

There's York, stuffing his face. North doesn't know when he's seen a better sight. The man he loves, who he's now free for the first time to simply walk up to and greet in whatever fashion he desires. He approaches the table, pulls out the chair next to York's, and sits down. "Don't tell me you didn't save me a bite."

"Baby, I saved you a whole slice." York wipes his mouth clean with a napkin and reveals North's slice of strawberry rhubarb pie with a flourish. Of course he saved a slice for North—and with everyone even remotely connected to the project fifty miles away? He doesn't think a damn thing of leaning over to press his lips to Drew's. He thinks even less of being able to lean against his side and hook an ankle around his for that extra brush of closeness. They can _do_ this here, and no one will care.

Not a one.

"Who loves you, huh?" York says.

North normally wouldn't be one for public displays like this, but the fact that it's an action they can carry out without repercussions makes it feel exciting—he almost gets a head rush from how incredible it is to be able to swipe his tongue along York's lips, to reach around and hug his shoulders while they kiss, and to press his leg firmly into York's. He can't help chuckling against York's lips and when the kiss breaks he presses one more to York's cheek. "I think it's you," he says. "I can't believe you were hiding that."

"I am a pie ninja." Mostly he'd done it just to see North smile. Something else they can just do without worrying about being seen. This whole quaint little side town is somewhere they can be a couple. A place to chill and date like anyone else would, without fearing regulations or dressing downs. A place to be civilians. Not soldiers.

North gives York one more squeeze before disengaging his arm so he can scoot the pie over and pick up his fork. "Did you already book us a room?"

"Mm-hmm. For the next five days. Just you, me, a cozy little room and this sleepy little town." He doesn't need bars or clubs if he's got Andrew. Hell, they don't even need codenames.

North takes a bite of his pie and shoots a smile in Taylor's direction. "I'll grab my duffel out of the car after I'm done with this and we can check in."

"You rented a car?" York had just caught a ride with the bus—wanting to save up in case they wanted to go out to eat somewhere nice this week. Or stay in and cook. They've got access to a little kitchenette in the room.

"Yup. That way we can get out and do anything we want." He rubs York's foot with his. "I happened to pass some woods on the way—maybe we can go for a hike."

"It has been forever since I last went hiking." He's more of a city kid, really, but if North wants to go hiking in the woods, they'll go hiking in the woods. It'll be fun. He snuggles closer into North's side, tucking his arm around his waist.

North turns his head to kiss York's temple. "I know the first thing we're going to do when we get to the room," he mutters. Because of keeping up appearances it has been several days since they've gotten the chance to sleep over and in addition to feeling this affectionate he has a feeling they're both wanting each other pretty badly.

"I feel so bad for the laundry service." York snorts a soft laugh. God they're going to make a mess of the sheets at this rate. Maybe they can start in the shower, take it easy? Another little brush of contact and, nope. Not gonna be enough. Finally a real bed. Real walls. They can be loud and no one can bother them.

North laughs too, quiet like York does. He finishes his pie, wipes his mouth, and folds the napkin to leave on top of his plate. "I'll go grab my bag while you pay and we can meet in the lobby," he suggests.

"Alright. We'll be on the second floor, I think." York leans up to press his lips to North's real quick as he stands, glad to be able to do that and not worry. He scoops up his own duffel off the floor. "See you soon."

Once they're there and they've had the chance to meet back up and get checked in North lets York lead the way to their room. It's sort of sparse, wood-paneled, a white duvet on the bed and a white love seat near the window. North notices that and then the kitchenette in the corner. "Holy hell, this must cost a lot of money, Taylor. You didn't have to get a room this big."

"You know I never actually pay the tab when we go out drinking, right? I pawn it off on Florida or Wyoming." Who come from money, sort of, and can handle that sort of purchase. "I've been saving up for an epic leave since Casbah."

And while this might not have been what he'd had in mind when he'd started saving up it's more than worth it. Room to move around, a bed big enough for both of them, a place to cook. He sets his bag down by the door and slides up behind Andrew, resting his cheek on his back. "Just the best for you, baby."

North lets his bag drop, turns, and puts his arms around York. He breathes out a chuckle. "I've said this before but—you're crazy." He rests his cheek on Taylor's head (because he's free to think of him as Taylor now, he doesn't have to be York), then pulls back just enough to tip his head down and go for a kiss, sealing his lips on York's with a little hum.

"Crazy for you." It's cheesy, he knows it's cheesy but he can afford to be jokey and cheesy with Andrew. He hasn't really had many serious relationships that lasted this long before but they were always tied up in some kind of humor and easy affection up till he joined the military. It coils something warm in his chest to know he has that here.

Andrew laughs, a warm and open laugh, and presses another quick kiss to Taylor's lips. "I guess this is the asylum."

"Mhmm." He lets his hands drop low around Andrew's waist, grinning up at him. "So...first time with a real bed. How you wanna do this?"

So many options he could choose from. But they also have most of the week. They'll have the chance to do everything they can imagine. And it's fun to just go with the flow and see how things will turn out on their own. So he grins, a predatory kind of smirk, and puts one hand on Taylor's ass. "Like this," he says, and puts his mouth to the side of Taylor's neck, just below his ear, and starts in on doing a half-biting, half-sucking sort of kiss.

Usually Taylor's the one that instigates. Casual touches? Kinda half and half with them. But in bed? Taylor's the aggressor. To have Andrew hauling him in and biting at his throat right off the bat sends all kinds of happy hot twisting signals through him. He clings—hooks an arm around Andrew's shoulders and grinds against his leg with the leverage he's got. "Someone's eager—"

"Mmn," North grunts, a little sound of agreement, and once he thinks he's left something of a mark he lets his breath puff in Taylor's ear for a moment. It's exciting to him, the idea that he can leave a mark and it won't matter; normally he wouldn't care about that kind of thing but sneaking around like they normally have to do makes the idea enticing. He pulls back enough to push Taylor toward the bed, and once they're there he presses on Taylor's shoulders to get him to sit down. The first thing that needs to come off is their shoes, so they can move on to removing everything else, so he kneels down and yanks the laces of York's shoes untied.

"Eager's good. Eager is very good—" Oh wow that's nice. He shudders at the bruise he feels blooming and goes along with Andrews pushing easily, stumbling back against the bed and landing on his elbows when nudged down. Normally he's the one guiding things but now? He's along for the ride. "Hey careful these are new—" Ish? New-ish. New enough he'd rather not have to replace them.

North’s fingers still fumble a bit with haste but he certainly doesn't intend to ruin Taylor's shoes. Once they're off he rises to bend over Taylor and kiss him while he hooks his fingers in Taylor's waistband. It occurs to him that as long as they've been together he's never given Taylor a blow-job and what better time to give it a try? He gives Taylor a final kiss before starting in on pulling his pants down, then kneels between his legs.

York looks down at him. What is Drew doing down there—

Oh. Oh. This is new. This is something he didn't think Andrew would ever really want to do but he's sure as hell not complaining. York lifts his hips when can to help with tugging his jeans off (no boxers—he was being optimistic and rightly so). Part of him wants to say he doesn't have to but the rest shuts that part up real quick.

"God you look good down there."

"I thought you might think so," Andrew says. He could go to the effort of pulling Taylor's shirt off and disrobing himself but something about the urgency expressed by getting right to it like this is...pretty sexy. He puts his hand around Taylor's cock and gives it a few pumps before leaning in and drawing the head into his mouth. It's new, and different, but knowing he is doing this to please his lover makes it seem not at all bad. Oral sex had been one of his favorite things to perform on his past girlfriends and though this would be different he was determined that he would enjoy this just as much.

Oh god they're not even stripping down, York realizes. He's going to have to do laundry later and that's the last steady thought he's got before Andrew's got a hand on him and he's always fucking loved that. The fit of his palm, the slide of his fingers, and then his mouth? That's new. That's fucking amazing and he fists the sheets by his hips to keep from bucking up deeper into Andrew's mouth. "Jesus christ—"

Taylor's dick fills his mouth more than Drew had expected, but he can adapt. He flattens his tongue and licks the underside of Taylor's cock, then closes his eyes before beginning to bob his head. He sucks on the end of it, stroking the base of it with his hand. He sucks on it, trying to let more of it draw into his mouth with each pass.

Hold still, York thinks. He has to hold still. Andrew's probably not used to this, so he needs to not make it harder but it's _hard_ when it feels this fucking good and maybe he bucks when he shouldn't, hips rolling up more than they really ought to and—

Drew gags and that sound isn't near as sexy as some people think it might be. "Shit, sorry." Taylor slides a hand down to cradle the side of Drew's face, petting his hair. "You okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he tries to say, but instead the words come out mumbled between coughs and he has to clear his throat. "I'm okay," he repeats. He pauses to rub his hands on Taylor's thighs and then hugs them to his sides. "You taste good."

"You've never done this before, have you?" York’s sort of had a vague sense that Andrew's pretty inexperienced with dudes but this? This is pretty damn obvious.

North sits back on his feet a bit. "I thought you knew I'd never been with another man before."

"...Probably should have picked up on that before." Taylor huffs a soft laugh, rubbing at Andrew's shoulder. "I just thought you didn't talk about 'em."

"I thought I was straight until we got together." Because now North takes it for granted that their relationship really started the day they'd started sleeping together.

"Honestly? I thought so too." It was kind of a surprise that North teased back as much as he had that day but he wouldn't take it back for anything. "Okay, pro tip: Most of the nerves? In the first inch. You don't need to deepthroat a guy to get him off. You know I like your hands, so just take what you can and use your hand for the rest, okay?"

Andrew pumps Taylor's cock with his hand a couple of times. "I know. I just remembered how you did it to me and figured you liked it that way." He drops a kiss to it before starting again—drawing it into his mouth and beginning to suck, but this time he puts more of his attention on the strokes of his hand.

"Dude, I was trying to show off,” York says. “I have continued to try to show off because I want you impressed with me." It's kind of—okay, it's dumb, but he likes that Andrew's impressed with him enough to mimic him—but between the hand and the mouth he is a happy camper. Groaning low in the back of his throat, he tries and fails to keep from rolling up a little.

North would laugh at the remark, but he's kind of busy right now. He pays attention to Taylor's movements, to the tension he shows as he tries to hold back, to the pulsing of his hips, and tries to adjust his rhythm accordingly. Soon he speeds up the work of his hand, covering as much of Taylor's cock that isn't in his mouth, and reaches down to adjust his own erection through his pants. He's always enjoyed giving oral, it's always turned him on a hell of a lot, and he lets out a soft moan around Taylor's dick.

Taylor would be the first to admit he's been spoiled with having Drew round. Enough that he's stopped having a real urge for a quick shower jerk-off, to make whatever time they had together more intense. After the past few days of not having either on account of preparations for leave and training sessions it's cut his stamina down to something ridiculously short. That moan and cracking his eyes open enough to watch North slide his hand along his erection, just— "Drew, get your ass up here now." If North doesn't stop he's gonna come and he doesn't want to yet.

Andrew rolls his eyes up to look at Taylor before pulling away and rising to a half-standing position, just high enough to wrap his arms around Taylor's ribs and nose up against his chin and press a kiss to his mouth. "Yeah?"

"C'mere—" He scoots back and tries to kick out of his jeans without actually hitting Drew; easier said than done, but he manages it. Kinda. Mostly. There won't be any bruises at least. He nips at Andrew's lips and slides a hand between them to work at his fly. "Lemme do you."

Andrew stands, just enough to allow Taylor to get his jeans the rest of the way off, and when he leans in Taylor starts working at his fly. "I get first priority, do I?" he teases. Then he lets out a slow breath, anticipating whatever it is Taylor's about to do.

"Always." He sits up, able to reach Drew from ribs to knees easily like this. He tugs his zipper down and nips at his abdomen, kissing his way down to his hips, dragging Drew's pants down along with his hands until he's nosing at the base of his cock. "Mind if I show off a little more?"

"Go ahead," he says. His hands knead at Taylor's shoulders, knowing that he'll need to brace himself for when he has his orgasm.

Call him cocky, but Taylor's allowed to smirk at Drew already bracing himself for the inevitable before he even gets started. Part of him wants to draw it out, but the rest? Focuses on sliding his lips along the underside to the head and sucking him down in one long swallow. With more time and practice at it he doesn't gag near as much.

After what just happened Andrew realizes how much it can disrupt things to pulse his hips toward Taylor's mouth, so he chooses to remain as still as he can manage, though he knows Taylor's skilled enough it may not matter. In any case he exhales through his nose and lets himself enjoy the sensation of being swallowed like that, watching Taylor as he goes at it.

And go at it he does, hands sliding around to hold Andrews hips as he pulls back to suck on just the head and breathe for a second before sliding all the way back down again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Once he gets a good rhythm going he flicks his eyes up the length of Andrew's body, one blue and one cloudy reading what this does to him with every twist of his tongue. With every slow, drawn out suck.

Years of practice, dedication, and bad choices, York thinks, that have ended in a brand new set of bad choices that have, somehow, given him something very nice. He can't regret this choice or these results when it's gotten him Andrew and given him the skills to please him. He rolls back down till his nose is pressed against North's abdomen, rolls his eyes up to grin at him, and hums.

Andrew almost laughs—Taylor's so proud of himself. He sets a hand on Taylor's head and scrabbles his fingers into his hair. "You can go faster, you know."

Faster he wants, faster he gets. Taylor can't go as deep as he'd like if he keeps things going fast but he's able to get as much as he needs to really wind Drew up.

Andrew grips Taylor's shoulders, eventually closing his eyes, and as he gets close to his climax he tips his hips forward, grunting a little. When he goes off it's with a long, strained sigh, leaning his weight against Taylor's shoulders as he sags forward against him.

They both have a longstanding habit of going boneless once they crest that peak and Taylor has become a deft hand at catching Drew and easing him back down to the bed when they're finished. Now's no different. He sucks Drew down and swallows everything, pulling back with wet pop to help him settle on the bed. Then it's just a question of tugging him the rest of the way out of his pants and now, erection or no, he nuzzles into Drew's shoulder with a soft sigh.

Andrew cooperates with everything Taylor is doing, pushing his shoes off and helping pull his jeans off one leg at a time, then relaxes on his side, running his hand up and down Taylor's side. "Just as impressive as advertised," he teases once he's started breathing normally again.

"Only the best for my baby." Means only the best from him too, even if he's not always entirely on the ball. He tangles their legs together so he could lean into North's space, hands stroking his back easily. "Happy leave, yeah?"

"Mmh," he agrees, and trails his hand down to Taylor's groin. "Want me to finish what I was doing?"

"Yes, please?" He rolls his hips up against North's hand, not quite whining. Okay, he is whining, but it's a good whine.

The whine makes Drew smile and he leans in for a kiss. "I'll make it good for you," he says then slithers back to kneel on the floor again, giving York space enough to sit back up.

"You always do." Taylor can't think of a time Andrew hasn't. It's why he never really thought that he hadn't been with a guy before, but even with that knowledge he's always been considerate, careful, and pretty fucking amazing. Also: Fast study. Taylor props himself up on his elbows to watch and groans just as much from seeing those lips wrapped around him as he does the sensation.

Drew starts out slowly, circling the head of Taylor's cock with his tongue before he slowly draws it into his mouth. Only then does he start stroking the shaft, varying the rhythms, bobbing his head at a faster rate than he moves his hand. As a bonus, he decides to move his other hand to cup Taylor's balls, and he gives them a little twist and squeeze.

"Jesus christ, Drew—" Normally he can talk. But it's been longer than he'd like, getting Drew off really wound him up and this? This is everything he's ever liked about a blowjob rolled into one amazing package. He manages to scrabble a hand down to his shoulder and moan out a warning before he starts to buck up and crest.

Drew's left with nothing to do but to swallow it back, keeping his hand moving until he's sure Taylor's done riding out the aftershocks. He pulls away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He leaves his other hand right where it is, still cupped under Taylor's balls, stroking them with his fingers.

"Nnngh—sorry." More warning probably would've been better. He can't feel too bad, though, with Andrew still teasing at his balls like this. He shudders his way down from his orgasm and rubs at him with a leg, whining softly. "S'too much, man."

Drew pulls his hand away, rising and coming to sit alongside him, draping his arm around Taylor's waist. He doesn't really have words right now, doesn't feel like he needs them, either. Instead of talking he just places his hand on Taylor's cheek, thumbs at the corner of his mouth, and gives him a deep kiss.

Taylor can taste himself on Andrew's tongue—and that's hotter than he's ever really found it with anyone else. This is just one more way of showing that everything is sweeter, better, with Andrew. Or it's the being in love thing. Probably both. Most likely both.

Drew doesn't break the kiss off so much as lets it come to a slow close, and he doesn't move away when it does, instead sliding a soft kiss across York's cheekbone and down, along his jaw.

This is nice, Taylor thinks. Slow and deep and even, open and affectionate and—everything they can't be back on the MOI. Five days. They get this for five days and five days only and then— Until the next leave. "You are lovey tonight,” he says.

"I can stop," North says, teasing, because he knows that's not what York's saying at all. But why not, Taylor's the one who's always coming back for extra kisses and touches when he can get them and why shouldn't Andrew try to show him that level of affection now that they're free to have it?

By now the sun has gone down outside and they're wreathed in shadows. Andrew is still holding on to Taylor's face with one hand and he pulls back enough to look him in the eyes. That redness in the cataract in his left eye has receded since the first time Drew saw his injury and its whiteness now seems to dominate Taylor's face, here in the semi-darkness. Andrew gently runs his thumb over one of the lines of scarring on Taylor's face and kisses the corner of his eye—softly, sweetly, because this they don't talk about, not since the tower, and Andrew doesn't draw attention to his injury like this normally, but it's just...something about the lighting. Something about knowing it's always going to be there, and he can't do anything to change that for Taylor.

What he would give to be able to change that for him.

York's tried to ignore it for the most part. Hard when he can't see through most of the cataract but he doesn't draw attention to it. Pretends it never happened. Andrew focusing on it usually makes him a little uncomfortable but now...it's like an apology. For not being there to slow it down. To stop it. To cover him like he normally would.

"What're you looking at?" Taylor says. A joke would be easier to take. A kiss. Anything other than that attention narrowed down on what he perceives to be the ugliest part of him. A reminder of a personal failure that will never, ever fucking go away. He tips his head enough to hide the scarring, tilting his face away, trying to shake off the feeling of Andrew's lips. It's just... He'd rather not. Can they not? He'd like to not. "...It’s not your fault."

North slides his hand back with the motion of York's head, running his thumb down along his cheek, still following that scar. He doesn't answer Taylor's question, nor respond to his statement, simply pressing a kiss to the cheek that's now been turned toward him. It's not about apologies, it's about the assurance that he's here, will always be here, no matter what might be wrong with Taylor emotionally or physically.

It helps to be good with words, which York isn't, not always. It'd help him explain why it bugs him, just as much as Drew's insistence on not saying anything and reassuring him through touch and action explains why his being bothered is bullshit. He's still him, down one eye or not. He shouldn't be so damn tense about it. Shouldn't hide it. Gradually he turns his face back to Andrew in full, tilling his scarred cheek into his palm. "Five days." Five days where they can be like this, no worries, and then back to the grind. "We get a real bed with real quilts for five days."

"And each other," North says, running his thumb with a whisper-soft touch over the second line of scarring. "And no minders." After that he cups Taylor's cheek fully with his hand, then moves it to cup the back of his head. "You're still gorgeous," he says, and gives him another soft kiss.

"No cameras,” Taylor says. “No missions. No nosy siblings—" Wait, backtrack, not a thing um shit wait "Nosy crewmen."

Good save, York. Now he'll never know.

North can't help a grin breaking out on his face at that remark. Yeah, he sort of noticed it, York. "She didn't ask, if you're wondering. Where I was going to be."

"Oh. Good! That's good." Oh god, what is that going to cost him later? Sure, Carolina talked to her about it, but South's South and always out to do her first if it doesn't hurt someone she cares about. Namely Drew. "We'll go hiking, go out and have a nice dinner, maybe go dancing?"

"We'll need to go shopping to stock up that kitchenette for our meals in," Andrew says. See? It was a good idea to rent a car. "Too bad it's just a microwave, it'd be kind of nice to be able to cook something fresh."

"I could snag a hotplate or a camp stove or something for us to set up? I think they had a toaster oven in the lobby I could borrow if we wanna cook a small batch of something." It'd be fun.

"I think it's meant to stay in the lobby," Drew says, amused. "We'll survive with just a microwave, I think. All the more to be lazy and rest up."

"We could borrow it, I swear I'll put it back." Still. He snuggles into Drew's shoulder just to revel in having a whole bed to spread out in, a mattress that doesn't suck, and air that doesn't smell like gun oil and ozone.

“Heh.” North finally makes a move to reach toward the head of the bed and turn the light on. "What do you think first, unpack or shower?"

"Mmm. Shower?” York says. “Should be room for two..."

"Shower it is." Both of them still need to take their shirts off but as usual, if Taylor wants to snuggle, nobody's going to go anywhere just yet. Andrew lets out an exhale and wraps his arms around Taylor. "We can do as much of this as you want, too."

"You don't mind?" Taylor asks. Sometimes in the past he was a little too...tactile, he guesses, after sex. Even in this century cuddling isn't something big ole space marines apparently do but that solidity, that reassurance that Drew is here and alive and warm and not a bloody smear somewhere else is something he kind of needs. It helps him worry less when they're on missions.

"If I get tired of it, I'll let you know." Because he had a feeling his capacity to indulge in cuddling didn't run as high as Taylor's did.

"Good, I don't wanna bug you by being, y'know, clingy." He nuzzles into Drew's shoulder, smiling against the fabric of his shirt. They can stay like this for a little while before cleaning up. "...We don't have to sneak out in the mornings. We can...sleep in. And do whatever."

He hums a little in appreciation and runs his hand down Taylor's arm to take his hand. "I'm not much for sleeping in. I won't bug you if you want to, though."

"So long as you don't mind me staying up,” York says. “I'm kind of a night owl." When they aren't exhausted on the regular from training sessions and have a schedule to keep. Left to his own devices? Sleep is fought against in favor of the next thing on his list that needs doing. Most often that thing is a game or a book.

Drew lets out a little chuckle. "So long as you're not staying up so long you're going to bed right when I'm getting up. We do want to try to be awake at the same general times."

"Nah, promise I'll get enough sleep to be awake with you,” Taylor says. “Hell, you can even get me up early. I will grumble about it though, but I'll get up." And that? That's devotion. Normally nothing gets him up early but the threat of court martial when he's on leave. But Drew is special. And as such gets special consideration on the scale of important things.

"I'm sure it'll work out, then." Andrew rubs Taylor's hand with his thumb. He wants to urge Taylor toward the shower but he did promise to let him have all the cuddle time he wants. He's going to wait it out and see how long it takes for Taylor to break it off on his own.

"Besides. Early morning hikes are a thing, right? So you're not out when it's all hot and gross?" York says while untangling himself and sliding off the bed, tugging Drew with him. Cuddling's nice but he can feel himself getting sticky—and if he's sticky? Drew's sticky. And that shit gets uncomfortable. "C'mon. I'll grab my shampoo, you get the water started."

And maybe he brought a little extra of the good stuff that Drew likes smelling on him just for the occasion.

Andrew stands along with Taylor and pulls his shirt off. It was funny, they'd taken a ton of showers together before this. This whole thing started in the shower, really. But he was looking forward to this one especially, because they would actually be able to show affection while they were taking it. "Meet you in there," he says, and by the time Taylor arrives the shower is running hot, Andrew rinsing himself under the stream of water.

York had managed to put down enough to get one of the suites with the bigger showers. Room for a guy like Drew and some space for him to slide on in. No real danger of slipping around and breaking anything —at least he hopes. That'd kinda ruin the mood. He shucks his shirt and slides in behind him, bottle of body wash and shampoo in hand. "Have I told you how sexy your back is lately?" Pretty sure he has at least once, but it bears repeating.

"Not lately," Drew says, amused, and turns around to face Taylor. "I think the last thing you complemented me on was my arms."

"Which are fucking amazing, lemme tell you." Taylor pours out a bit of the shower gel to start a lather on Drew's chest. "But your back, man. Your back is gorgeous."

"Well, thank you," North says with a chuckle. He watches what York's doing for a moment, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Mm. I love the way this stuff smells." It's how Taylor usually smelled when they were together, when they made love. Why was that so exciting, the idea of smelling like York?

"Kinda caught on after the third or fourth time you fell asleep with your nose pressed against my skin. Or hair. S'cool, though, I like it." Makes him feel all warm and—possessed, kind of. Though that toes a line he's not sure he's going to get into with Drew, ever. Well. Not for awhile? He doesn't need that now. He's got this. And this? Is so much better. "Brought that aftershave you like too."

Drew cooperates as Taylor continues to wash him. "You better have," he says. "Would have had to go buy you another bottle if you hadn't."

"Bought an extra bottle just in case." He doesn’t think he'll run out but, it never hurts to have a little more on hand. Speaking of, he finishes lathering up Drew's chest and works his way across his shoulders and down to his palms.

For North sensation has a lot more to do with what turns him on and what he finds attractive than simply looks. Sure, he knows what's hot, but he doesn't get off on just the view. Something like this? The tactile nature of touching and being touched, the glide of the soap and the water, the smell of York's preferred fragrance, all add up to a very arousing experience for him. Once Taylor reaches his hands Andrew drags his hands up Taylor's arms to his shoulders, scanning York's body with his eyes, ending at his face.

Maybe York's teasing when he drags his fingertips across Andrew's palms but it's hard to not when Drew looks at him like that. Like he's the only thing he wants in the whole damn universe. It's always a bit of a head trip, thoroughly flattering, and really, really hot. Enough that he's grinning at North's long gaze and stepping in to tease his groin with a sudsy, slick hand.

North’s face relaxes into a smile and he runs a hand down to Taylor's waist. "Give me that bottle," he says. Might as well get them both washed up at the same time. Then they can concentrate on other things.

"Yessir." He leans up on his toes enough to kiss Drew's chin before handing the bottle over, still teasing at Drew's hips and navel with his sudsy fingers.

Andrew dispenses a generous amount into his hand before handing the bottle back, and after rubbing his hands together he starts in smoothing the gel over Taylor's shoulders, chest, abdomen, and arms. After that he takes York by the hips and starts rubbing down his ass. "Got to get the dirty parts, too."

"Haven't gotten that dirty just yet." Taylor rolls his hips forward against Drew’s hip and then back into Drew's hands, happy to be a slippery, sudsy distraction to actually washing up. "But I wouldn't mind gettin’ a little dirty." More than a little if his growing erection is anything to go by. Usually he scrubs himself up and down but it feels awesome to be a little pampered.

It's rare for them to be able to indulge in sex more than once in a day. That's only one factor that leads to this being so exciting. Drew moves a hand to grab Taylor's cock. "You know what I want? What we had that first time, where we rubbed together." He's a bit too tall for them to pull that off standing up, but with some artful bending of limbs it should be possible.

Best part about private vacations: screwing as much as they want, as many times as they want, when they want. Taylor hadn't expected to get it back up so quick but it's Drew and—well as far as guys go Drew is one of the most attractive men he's been with in awhile. Or it's the whole 'hopelessly in love with him’ thing. Or both. Probably both. York hooks a leg around North's waist, ready to grab the top of the glass wall of the shower and haul himself up to align them properly. "Told you I'd climb you like a tree."

"I'm liable to slip and fall if you do that." But he also doesn't do anything to get York off of him.

"Back up against the wall?" Maybe if he braces himself they can get a little more stability.

North glances back, then shakes his head with a little smile, nudging Taylor back up. "You remember earlier when I pretty much collapsed when I came?" He wants to try it, just...not in the shower.

"Because I'm so damn awesome?" He snorts but slides his leg right back down, kissing Drew's neck. "Okay. Rinse off, dry off, back to the bedroom?"

"Yeah." North takes to the space beneath the shower head and rinses before edging by York so they can trade places. After they're both done rinsing off and drying he leads the way back to the bedroom, eventually deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and putting an arm out to invite Taylor to come sit on him. "Here," he said. "You're in charge."

"Really?" All right, then. This time? They're gonna go slow. York towels himself off and walks over, dropping into Drew's lap easily. They line up so damn well like this, cocks brushing against one another. All they need is a little lube. He reaches to the nightstand to grab the bottle he'd left there while grabbing his shampoo and slicks up a hand before grasping them both. "Mnn... God." His head dips forward, resting his cheek against Drew's.

Andrew holds on to Taylor to keep him from sliding off of his lap, relaxing and letting his head rest against Taylor's. It's comforting, the way York is touching him tenderly and controlling things with care. This is the way York was acting when they finally made the decision to call things what they really were. North doesn't make a move to hurry things along; instead, he just rests in the security of it, the gentle yearning that York seems to express when he paces himself like this.

There are few people York trusts to never let him slip away and fall no matter what the situation is. Andrew is the only one he's ever trusted so easily and so readily. He knows he's not going to slip and that certainty helps him focus on the slow drag of his hand up and down their cocks. It's a lazy motion, emphasized by the odd roll of his hips up into his hand, gliding extra friction along Drew's erection. How close they're curled, the varying pressure of his hand and the soft puff of Drew's breath against his skin makes this perfect in so many ways.

Slow and steady, slow and steady, and Andrew has no problem letting it continue just as it is. Eventually that heat starts to build inside him and he noses against York's face to reach his mouth, pressing his lips gently against Taylor's.

God, nothing is quite like a slow burn, Taylor thinks. The gradual build of sensation that has them both grinding together into his hand for that added bit of friction—christ. It's already hard to breathe in the good kind of way and Drew sliding their mouths together like it's something perfect just— Taylor shudders and moans into the kiss, pressing forward desperately. Andrew meets the kiss in kind, opening his mouth to let Taylor in, now beginning to shift his hips up into Taylor's hand.

York has to suck in a breath before they deepen the kiss, panting through his nose with every stroke and buck. It hasn't been that long since his last but like this, pressed close and shuddering against each other he can't hold off any longer. He pulls back to breathe, face buried in Drew's neck as he bucks up into his hand and spills, hot and slick between them.

North’s not quite to the tipping point, though he's close, and he pulses his hips up into Taylor's hand. "Keep going, Tay," he mutters, turning his head to let his lips brush Taylor's ear when he speaks.

"Mm-hmm—" God, it's too much for him, but not enough for Drew so he keeps on, grinding his hips through his own mess and stroking Drew as fast as he can.

Andrew comes, sighing against Taylor's ear and gripping onto his body a little harder. His breathing isn't as rapid as Taylor's, not having done most of the work, but he has to let himself sag against him for a couple moments. Then he moves his hands to Taylor's sides so he can fall back against the mattress and bring Taylor along with him.

Down? Down's good. He's happy to slide down and nestle, slick and sweating, against Drew's chest. That was, as per usual, fucking intense and really goddamn amazing. He presses his lips against Drew's jaw and throat, peppering him with light, chaste kisses.

Drew just lets his eyes close, relaxing. Eventually he opens them and combs the fingers of one hand into Taylor's hair. "We need to clean up again," he says lazily.

"Mmm. Lemme just..." He leans up enough to press a kiss to Drew's forehead. "Wet wipes. Packed a bunch. So we don't have to shower after every time."

He smiles, fluffing up Taylor's hair where his hand is in it. "Good, 'cause otherwise we'd be taking a lot of showers."

"Save some water." He rubs his nose against Drew's before sliding away and plucking up the wet wipes, cleaning them both up.

North puts his hands behind his head and watches York take care of that, then scoots back onto the bed to lie on it properly. "Look at that, my feet don't hang over," he says.

"Made sure to get the biggest bed in the building." Like he's kept saying, only the best for his baby. He tosses the wet wipes and slides up, nuzzling Drew's shoulder.

"You're spoiling me rotten," North says, eyes closed.

"’Cause I wanna," York says. It's so damn easy to kiss his way from shoulder to jaw to cheek and just rest there, curled close and clean and comfortable.

"We're going to have so much trouble going back to normal again,” North mumbles.

"Yeah...but it's worth it,” York says.

"Mm." North's wrung out and fully relaxed and already half-asleep. "You make it worth it."

"You make it worth it to make it worth...it. That sounded better in my head." Taylor snorts and tugs the quilt over them. He's good to rest up for now, it'd been a long flight and a long day. Tomorrow? Whatever Drew wants to do.


	10. Chapter 10

Andrew awakens when the sun starts to peek between the thick curtains. The light is salmon-colored, and casts a beam of light across their legs. Taylor's still curled up by his side. Drew stretches a little, pressing a kiss to Taylor's forehead, and after resting there for a little while he decides to slip out of bed and get dressed.

The nice thing about a bed and breakfast is the whole free breakfast part, and he wonders if he can go get a plate for his boyfriend and return with it before he wakes up.

Taylor, for his part, is still out cold. Without a reason to get up early he burrows deeper into the blankets as soon as Drew slips free. No drills. No weights. No running. No tests. He's going to sleep in as long as he wants to— Well. Or until Drew comes back up with food.

The breakfast is simple, local fare of hearty meats, eggs, and vegetables with a side of fruit salads, muffins and other pastries set in a warmer, plates and a note that yes, food can be piled high and taken back up to the rooms.

Over their time in the Project, North had had the time to pay attention to the kind of food York tended to choose when it came to selecting his own breakfast. When he reached the buffet he made sure to select York's favorites, as well as some bonus treats. Bacon and eggs, cheese on toast, and oranges went on the plate, as well as a cranberry-orange scone and a small dish of oatmeal. Plenty of fuel for their upcoming hike and a nice variety of flavors. North got himself a plate of the same and brought them up to the room. He set the plates on the counter in the kitchenette and headed over to the bed to perch on the edge of it. He watched Taylor sleep for a moment, a fond smile on his face, before reaching out to smooth his hand down Taylor's shoulder. "Tay," he says. "Time to wake up."

"Mmmm?" for a moment he curls tighter around Drew's pillow, having tucked it up against his stomach and rolled to bury his face into it—but the warmth of his hand and the aroma of bacon has him unwinding. Twisting to catch Drew's hand and drop a kiss to his wrist. Opening his eyes is…yeah. Not happening. But a moment to nuzzle into Drew's hand? Always a good thing. "Whatime izzit?"

It doesn't _feel_  like he's been sleeping for ten hours.

"After sunrise," Drew says with a bit of a chuckle. "I don't know exactly."

"Too early," Taylor mumbles. But…bacon. And Drew. Taylor cracks his good eye open to peer up at him. "Food?"

"Everything you like," Drew says, and leans in to kiss the side of Taylor's face. "Come on, we can watch the sun come the rest of the way up from the couch."

"Sap." But he leans into the kiss and rolls out of bed anyway. Watch the sunrise. It's a clichéd kind of thing to do but...fine. He'll do it if it makes Drew happy. With minimal grumbling. "M'up, m'up."

Drew moves to let Taylor arise from the bed, and then he moves to get their plates. He passes Taylor's off to him, then goes to sit on the right side of the love seat.

Plate. Okay. Plate, walk, sit. He can do this. He manages it in a muzzy, half aware shuffle of his feet. He lists a little to the left before finding Drew and settling in close. Still naked. He's up! He didn't say he was dressed.

If Taylor's nudity bothers Andrew, it certainly doesn't show. "We've got a coffee maker in the kitchenette," he says. "Want me to start it up?"

"Mmmm. Coffee." Taylor munches down on a strip of bacon, leaning against Drew's side. "Lifeblood."

Drew chuckles. "I sort of need to be able to get up, York."

"..." Oh god he has to choose. Drew or coffee. This is—he can't be expected to make up his mind on this. Not now. Not ever. And yet... "Five more min, then coffee."

Congratulations, Drew. There is something in the world more vital to Taylor than coffee in the morning.

Drew just smiles and starts in on his bowl of oatmeal. "I hope you like maple in your oatmeal. They had that and raisins but I figured we had enough fruit."

"Mmmm...maple." Taylor takes a bite of the oatmeal and tips his head up for a kiss. Maple kisses are the best.

Normally Drew wouldn't like that but Taylor’s just so sweet about it he can't help smiling. "I'm glad. I made a few guesses." The main dish was stuff he knew Taylor enjoyed, though.

"You know me pretty well." Has been pretty spot on since they met, really. Taylor doesn't dwell on it. Just moves from oatmeal to cheese toast to bacon and moans a little at how _good_ everything is. Food. _Real_ food.

Andrew works on his meal in between watching the sun rise, the light going from a pinkish pale to full on bright yellow. The blue sky shows that it'll be a perfect morning for that hike. He smiles and nudges Taylor a little bit. "Want me to fix that coffee now?"

It's pretty, Taylor thinks. Kinda serene. Something they don't get on the MOI. There it's all schedules and segments and tests. This is something he'd never get anywhere else. Almost like being home. "Yes, please."

Drew gets up and sets his plate on the counter so he can open the pouch with the packet of grounds in it and fills the pot with water from the sink. "You like it a little stronger, right?"

"Lies. Sugar. Sugar and nothing else,” he grumbles over the oatmeal. "…normally. But today...cream. Please. And sugar."

North pauses. "...I thought you didn't like cream."

"Not powdered cream. But real heavy whipping cream like…once a year. Normally it's how my mom makes it back at home when I visit so I sit and sip and it's okay. But since I haven't been home in forever...just once is alright. It's a nostalgia thing. I like it when I feel safe. Cozy."

Andrew pours a little more water in the pot before beginning the brew cycle. "All I've got that's real dairy here is some milk. I can go down and get you some cream though. If you want."

"Nah. I'm mostly awake. Lemme put on pants and I'll go down to grab some." He sets his food aside and stands, popping his back. "You want anything else?"

"Some apple juice? That'd be nice with this stuff."

"Apple juice it is." Taylor leans over to kiss Drew real quick and jogs to his bag to get dressed. Loose jeans, tight shirt, socks for his feet before he pads downstairs. Grabbing a small container of real cream and a bottle of apple juice for his Drew. He's back up soon enough, more awake but still somewhat muzzy. "Nn. Gonna need to shave sometime this week."

"You mean someone will," he teases with a smile. It's become a beloved part of their routine and North has no intention of forcing York to learn to do it himself if he doesn't want to.

"Unless you want me all scruffy." He's tried to learn and the right side? Still all even. Left side? Scrapes up along the jaw. He can’t see it quite yet on his own so...Drew handles it. Not that either of them mind. It's pretty damn sexy.

"You look hot when you start getting a beard." But no, Drew wouldn't like Tay to get too scruffy.

"Manly lumberjack beard." Taylor settles back down next to Drew, nosing his shoulder.

"Maybe we'll both just wait until the last day of leave to shave." What would it be like to make out if they both had beards? Might be weird.

"I don't think I've ever seen you with anything more than stubble." Drew's pretty good about keeping himself up to regs. Taylor? Not so much.

"How could you even tell," Drew says with a light laugh. He knows there are no lumberjack beards in his future. His beard comes in sparse and practically white.

"I got good eyes,” Taylor says. “Well. A good eye." It feels okay to joke about that now. At least a little bit.

"Beautiful ones," Drew says. Yes, even with the injury.

"Yeah, milky white is really in fashion right now." Allow Taylor to roll his eyes, Drew.

Andrew knows Taylor's self-conscious about it. Maybe he just shouldn't say anything more. He picks up his coffee to take a draft of it.

"...you really don't mind it?" Taylor can't ever forget it. It's impossible for him to forget it.

"I don't. I wish for your sake that it wasn't there, but I certainly don't mind." Drew sets his coffee down again and takes Taylor's hand. "I love you. Nothing's going to change that."

Taylor still can't quite understand how Drew can be so easy about this. So honest. But it settles him all the same, has him curling into Andrew's side and sighing just a little. "Love you too. Just...still getting used to it. But if you don't mind it? I'll try to not."

Drew puts his arm around Taylor. "You'll deal with it in your own time. I'll just be here to support you. Whatever you need."

"Right now...I just need you. And coffee. But mostly you." Taylor tips his face up to brush his lips against Drew's jaw. "Thanks. Really."

"I'm here." Drew turns his head to press his lips to Taylor's.

"I know,” Taylor says. “That's worth everything." Every penny of this. Every moment of uncertainty. All the sneaking around they have to do on the ship.

Sweet, gentle, long kisses. That's a good way to start a day. Andrew draws his other arm around Taylor and runs his hand along the side of Taylor's neck.

Taylor leans into the contact, shivering a little at the pass of skin along his neck—it'd never been a thing until Drew but Drew sees everything that makes him happy and acts on it.

Making out on the couch between bites of breakfast seems to be the order of the morning. Drew smiles and thumbs at Taylor's ear. "We're never going to get going at this rate."

Oh god not the ear he went for the ear. Taylor is now goo against Drew's side, pulling back to finish his coffee sip by sip while exchanging kisses. "Hike? Hike."

"That's the plan," Drew says, pressing another kiss to Taylor’s cheek.

"Don't think I have hiking boots. Combat boots, yeah. Think those'll work?" This is how much Taylor loves Drew. He loves him enough to hike.

"Yeah,” Andrew says. “That's what I have." Not like either of them were going to travel with a bunch of extra stuff. Mm, but another kiss is nice. Lucky they woke up so early; they've got the time to waste before they start off.

"How long is the hike gonna be?” Taylor asks. “We could pack a lunch. Do a picnic." Those are romantic and date-like, right? Not too childish? It might be childish. Why'd he say that. Dumb idea.

Drew releases Taylor to take another drink of his apple juice. "However long we want. We'd have to stop at the store to do that, though."

"It'd be fun." And nostalgic, Taylor thinks. Kicking out to chill in the middle of a field or on a log and just breathing? Being one with nature? Okay, less the being one with nature, more just chilling. Chilling is good. "I'm game if you are."

"All right, to the store it is,” Drew says. “We need to take these dishes back down."

"Hey, two birds, one stone!" Taylor sets his empty mug aside and roots around for his boots. Weather looks good, so what he's in should be fine.

Drew does the same, but first he picks up their clothes from the night before and lays them out in a neat pile on the love seat. Once they're both prepared for the day and have their dishes returned he leads the way out to the rental car. It's just an ordinary sedan, nothing fancy.

Seats, Taylor thinks. Seats that have seatbelts, not rocker bars. Upholstery. Air conditioning. He slides into the passenger seat and sighs as he settles in place. "This is a nice car, Drew!"

Drew laughs. "It's the cheapest car they had on the lot."

"It's not a pelican or a taxi that smells like cigarettes. I am a happy camper."

"Well, good." Drew programs the car's on-board computer to guide them to the nearest store and soon they're on their way. Cold sandwiches from the deli section and some fruit seem to be the way to go for this picnic, and the purchase of a small foam cooler rounds out their purchases for this excursion.

Cold packs, bottles of pop— Beer and liqour they can sneak onto the ship easy. But soda? No one sends soldiers soda. Not a one. He has missed real rootbeer. "Alrighty. Where we hiking to?"

"Let's see what's nearby," Drew says, programming the on-board computer in the car once again. It shows several options in the area. "Carson's Ridge—that one looks pretty good." It would have a measure of difficulty without being overwhelming.

"You know me, I like my ridges." On chips. But the actual formation should be interesting to see in person.

"Sure," Drew says, amused. For this trip he puts the car on its autopilot function and reaches for Taylor's hand.

Taylor meets him halfway, curling his fingers around his palm. "Never really was much for hiking back home. But you know the middle of Texas. Nowhere to hike. It's all flat."

"You grew up on Earth then?" The only reason Drew knows where Texas is is because of the Project. "I grew up on Mars. Inner city. Never went hiking until I was in Basic."

"Yeah. Earthkid, right here." Taylor squeezes Drew's hand. "Kinda lucky that way."

"Yeah? How's that?" Drew asks.

"Grew up on earth; had a yard, picket fence, all that stuff. Normal childhood, you know? Not everyone in the project has that." Taylor doesn't point out how that's very much not the childhood North and South had.

He doesn't have to. Andrew rubs his thumb contemplatively across the back of Taylor's hand. "You're very lucky then."

"Lucky now too." He doesn't ask. Not right now. Tugs Drew's hand up to kiss the back of his hand. "Got you here with me."

Drew watches Taylor do that. He's kind of in his head now, remembering stuff. "Could you imagine, if we'd never met?" It would be terrible but they wouldn’t even know it. They wouldn't know the connection that they could have with another human being in this universe.

"Like...if I'd bit it when the rest of my squad got wiped?" Or just never met. Two very different shades of a similar tale.

"Something like that, yeah." Drew blinks himself out of his reverie and looks at Taylor more closely. "We could lose everything, you know. Are you willing, if they find out what we're doing?"

"...Project's the best thing that ever happened for my career." Seven months ago he would have said it was the best thing that ever happened to him, period. But that's changed. "Fuck it. We could die any day when we're running around. UNSC doesn't have regs against fraternization. Just the project. They give us shit about this I'll walk. I can fight just as well with any other unit."

"You could." Drew kind of thought York was pretty flippant about things when he talked about luck but he really did seem to have a lot of it. "I'm not sure how well that would work out for me. Plus we'd end up getting separated."

"...we could retire," York says. They have skills. He loves being a soldier but—

He loves Drew more. What is that even?

North’s quiet. "Yeah. We could." But not unless they got found out.

"Not something we have to worry about this week, though,” Taylor says. “No one's here. No one from the project is aaaaaanywhere near here. This? This is ours."

Andrew smiles. "Yeah. You did good, planning this."

"Also recommended hotel rooms for the rest of the ship in 'party central' so they are all way too busy fuckin’ around there to bother with us,” York says. “CT and Florida think I got a cabin by one of the lakes east of here for the week to brood in a manly fashion about my eye." Because covers are useful sometimes. CT probably doesn't buy it, but Florida? Sure.

"You thought of everything." Drew looks down for a moment, then resolves to push any melancholy thoughts away. "So what kind of stuff were you into as a kid?"

"...You're gonna laugh." There's the usual—sports, roughhousing, swimming, but the real answer? Is nerdy as fuck.

Drew smiles. "Try me."

"Encryption puzzles. Ma did logistics and she'd bring shit back that needed to be poked at and she'd toss some of them my way and— I loved them. It's how I got into lock breaking."

"Why would I laugh at that?” Drew asks. “Sounds awesome."

"Cuz it's fuckin’ nerdy." Super nerdy.

"Then you're a nerd. Do I care?"

"...no you don't." Taylor snorts a soft laugh.

Drew matches the laugh with a smile. "That's right."

"You probably think it's cute," Taylor says.

"Nah, I think it's awesome. Your mother cared enough to bring you something you were interested in, and gave you something constructive to do that you eventually made into a career," Andrew says.

"She was so proud when I got picked for the project. Security specialist. Send me a little card with an encryption in it that played a message when I cracked it. Took me a whole half hour." Because it'd been A) tough and B) nostalgia inducing. "We used to crack them together, you know?"

"That sounds...really nice." A chime went off then and Andrew released Taylor's hand so he could take the wheel of the car and steer it into the parking area.

"It was. I wish I could take you to meet her, you know? She'd love you." Everyone loves Drew.

Drew smiles a wistful smile. "Maybe one day." Now parked, he cut the engine and climbed out of the car.

Taylor sets himself on cooler duty, keeping the box braced against his side as he hops out of the car and inhales all that fresh air. It all smells so...green.

Andrew takes a deep breath before heading to the signboard with the trail maps on it. There are three trails, of varying distances. "5K, 10K, or 15K?" he asks.

"Your call." York’s walked farther in full gear before, they both have. If this is for fun and he doesn't give much of a damn how it goes—it's Drew's pick. "I'm good with whatever."

15 was a bit long for a morning walk and 5 sounded pointless. They'd be done before they started. "Let's take the 10K," Drew says.

"After you, babe." No he is not behind so he can ogle North's ass. How dare anyone suggest it.

Andrew doesn't think anything of it and starts off leading the way. Things are fairly flat at first, but soon they're headed up the side of a hill. "Looks like it gets a little harder up ahead. You want me to carry that for a while?"

"Mmm?" Head tilted slightly to the side, eyes locked on Andrew's ass, he's attentive enough to not drop everything or fall on his own ass. Replaying the question gets an answer. "Sure, you can take a turn."

Drew's caught on to what's going on now and he gives York an amused look before taking the cooler from him. "You want to lead the way now?" he says, teasing.

"Do you want me to lead the way?" He grins, looping a thumb on his jeans. He'd worn this pair for a reason. He has it on good authority they cradle his ass perfectly. Ideal date wear.

Drew laughs a little. "It doesn't make a difference to me."

"Lead I shall." Taylor swings right around Drew, snapping a hand out to squeeze his ass before taking point and heading down the path.

Another huff of laughter as Andrew props the cooler on his shoulder. "If I didn't know better I'd think you had a one-track mind."

"Naw, baby, I love you for your mind and your heart. The package doesn't hurt, though." Taylor snorts a laugh, turning enough to look at Drew, really look at him and watch how the light paints him gold.

There's not quite room for them to go side by side on the trail, at least in this section. Too bad. "How much time do you spend just looking at me?" Drew asks, amused.

"More than I should." So a fair amount more than a platonic friend would.

"To the point it distracts you from other things?"

"Nothing important,” Taylor says. “Work before pleasure." And he does take his job seriously.

"Good." Not that that had been a test or anything—he'd simply been curious. "If you're going to lead the way then go."

"Leading!" Taylor waves a hand in a loose circle before heading down the path, keeping to the same pace that Drew set earlier. It's really kind of invigorating, the walking. Why hasn't he done more of this?

Drew notices the bit about York's jeans, but for him it would mean a lot more to be able to cup Taylor's ass with his hand than to merely be looking.

Maybe he'll do that later.

Eventually between idle chatter and talk about the trail they come to a bit of a clearing in the trees and Drew stops. "Want to eat here?"

"Yeah, I could use a break." Taylor slides a half step over to lean against Drew for a moment. Not too long, it's friggin’ warm, but long enough to register as affectionate.

Drew does go for an ass-pat since Taylor has made it so readily available. This is clearly a popular spot to stop—once they've made it the rest of the way into the clearing he sees that there's a bench on the far edge. He goes over to it and sets the cooler on the ground. Then he sits down with an arm across the back of the seat. "What are you doing, standing there?" he teases.

"Waiting for my chair to set up." It might be hot but it's not so hot he can't swagger his way over and set himself in Andrew's lap. God knows he's big enough. Besides he's all sun warm and the sexy kid of sweaty. It's a win-win. "There we go. Perfect."

That had been unexpected but not unwelcome. Drew runs a hand down Taylor's back. "Too bad this bench is so narrow," he says, amused.

The hand gets a shiver as Taylor leans into it, twisting enough to kiss Drew's jawline. It's the simple things he wants to enjoy and this? This is one of them. "Need me to move?"

"Nn," Drew mutters, a scratching lightly at Taylor's lower back. They've seen people now and then on the trail but by the sound of it no one's around. He doesn't mind indulging for a little while before getting around to eating.

The shiver twists into a shudder, Taylor’s spine rolling back for more stimulation. Apparently it's gonna get some. "I think most of the other hikers aren't coming up this way..."

"Maybe." Maybe not. For now it didn't matter to Andrew. He couldn't hear anyone on the trail anywhere near, anyway. His hand switched to tracing light circles along Taylor's spine.

He'll have to return the favor later, Taylor thinks. For now he melts against Drew's hands, turning enough to rest his cheek against his shoulder and simply being for a little while. That's what hiking was for, right? Being. Simply being.

Drew rests his chin against Taylor's hair and lets himself breathe out a sigh. It was true, there was nothing in this moment but the air and the trees and the sun and especially each other. For him the worry about the people in the Project working things out had been a low-level constant concern in the back of his mind, but the precautions Taylor had taken put his mind at ease. For now...at least for now...he doesn't have to let that linger in the background. So instead he encircles Taylor's waist with his arms and squeezes him lightly, letting out a small hum of satisfaction.

Taylor, on the other hand, is pretty well resigned to someone finding out eventually. South knows. Carolina knows. He'll put money on CT knowing, she knows everything. Niner's probably guessed at it but he gets her what she needs when she needs it so she probably won't talk. It's a rather small handful he'd rather not know aside from their COs. Them finding out, putting it together? It's not selfish to want to keep this close. They wouldn't get it, all hopped up on being space marines like they are.

He shakes those thoughts off and leans back against Drew, warm and cozy and for the first time since he woke up half blind, content.

Eventually Andrew gives Taylor a little nudge. "You hungry yet?"

"Mhmm. Starving. What'd we grab?" Taylor asks.

"Some sandwiches and soda and fruit." He gives Taylor another ass-grab before nudging him again. "You never want to move when we're like this," he teases.

"Cuz it's comfy?" Taylor twists enough to kiss Drew's jaw before sliding free, perching on the bench next to him.

Andrew retrieves the cooler from where he'd placed it next to the bench and hands Taylor his sandwich and root beer. He isn't going to say anything to Taylor, not yet, but he’s starting to feel a bit cuddled out. "What did you want to do later on?"

"After we finish up the hike?" He hadn't really thought of it, more concerned with what Drew might want to do. As long as Drew's happy, he's all right. In the past, leave time is when he would drink, sleep, and screw around. He doesn't really need to go out drinking and screwing so...that leaves sleep. "I think there's a small movie theater in town. We could catch up on some pop culture."

Andrew chuckles a little before taking a sip of his soda. There was a database of movies in the computer system in the common room, but they were all pretty old. And they'd all been seen many times. "Something new. That'll be nice."

"I can look up what they got,” Taylor says. “Maybe there's something we've even heard of!" Maybe not. Either way, it'll be nice to see something they haven't five million times already.

"Don't tell me you brought your COM pad with you."

"On the hike?” Taylor asks. “No. It's back at the room." Anyone else? Yeah, he'd have brought it. But this is bonding time, right? Back to nature, just them and the world. Not...his favorite thing but it's Drew, he'll deal.

"Ah, good." Drew eats some more of his sandwich before saying anything else. "You know what else we never get on the ship? Ice cream."

"...There's an ice cream parlor across the street from the theater." Taylor may have done recon. Maybe. Just a little.

Drew's noticing that. He laughs. "What else is there in town, hm?"

"Waterpark a few miles out, pizza parlor, steak house, sushi bar, wine bar, martini bar, exactly one nightclub if you wanna go out, library, arcade, and a cupcake bakery." What? A vacation should be a vacation. "We're also close to a park where you can go rock climbing and canoeing or set up for the night in one of their cabins."

Andrew shakes his head with a small laugh. "I don't think we want to do all of that, man."

"We've got options, is what I'm saying. We could do some or none. Whatever you want." Taylor's pretty sure he can cover most of the basics. Pretty sure.

Drew looks at Taylor for a moment. He's catching on that Taylor seems to be deferring to him at every turn. "We can do things you want to do, too. It doesn't have to all be up to me."

"All I ever do on leave is sleep, drink, and fuck around." Taylor shrugs. "My libido is pretty well satisfied, I got a bottle of whiskey in the room, and we've got a fantastic mattress. I'm good."

A creature of simple needs, is Taylor. Happiest when everyone else is pleased.

"Well, if you decide there's something you do want to do, don't be afraid to speak up. I mean, we've gone out together on leave before. It's not like I'm opposed to going to the club if you want to go."

"I'd go to clubs to pick people up. I got you. I don't need to pick anyone up. Or want to." He shrugs. "Movies, ice cream, pizza." There. That's assertive enough, right?

Drew finishes his sandwich and folds up the wrapper to put back in the cooler. "I've never had sushi," he says.

"Really?" Right, Mars kid. "It's pretty good. You wanna try it sometime this week?"

"That's sort of what I was implying," Drew says, amused. "Come on, you ready?"

"Mm-hmm." Taylor finishes his soda with a swig and hops up, rolling out his shoulders. "It is really nice terrain out here, though."

"Yeah, it is. Not too steep because who wants to climb a rock on vacation?"

"You're outdoorsy! I guessed." To be honest most people are outdoorsy compared to Taylor. City boy through and through and happy to be one.

Outdoorsy? He huffs out a laugh. "Taylor, I grew up in the inner city. Anyplace that isn't like that is fine with me."

"How often do you talk about your childhood?" Not often. "I assumed, I'll admit." But still! Suburbs. Suburbia, sleepy touristish town. It's all good.

"You've never asked," he said with a shrug. No, he doesn't volunteer any information about it, but he'd talk about it if York wanted to know.

"Is that why you got that piercing scar?" Taylor asks.

"The scar?" He reaches up and fingers at it for a second, the small dimple on his left lower lip. "Yeah, I don't know. I thought it was cool. Later on I got tired of it." The piercing and the people he and his sister hung out with.

"I'm trying to picture you with a lip ring," Taylor says. He can, kind of. "...hot."

Drew laughs. "You'd think anything I wore was hot, I think."

"Or anything you didn't wear." He's biased. So, so biased. "I can't help it. You're hot."

It seems trite to simply return the compliment, but it's true, Taylor's pretty hot too. Hot enough to make seeing them making love in a mirror pretty appealing. But he decides not to say anything about it. Let that be a surprise for later. Instead he steps over to press a light kiss to Taylor's lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Taylor lets his hands rest on Drew's hips, leaning up for a quick aftershock before rocking down on his heels. " _If_ I wanted to go clubbing sometime this week, it'd just be to show you off."

Drew smiles and picks up the cooler. "We can dance together. If you do decide you want to."

"I think I'd like that,” Taylor says. “Sometime later in the week, you know? Right now I’m enjoying having you to myself." The path's pretty clear and not terribly difficult, once Drew’s got the cooler Taylor heads down, offering to carry at regular intervals.

Eventually they reach the front of the ridge and Drew slows down to take in the view. The trail is at least 20 feet above a stream, with a network of falls as it drops down between the rocks. Up ahead a ways the trail turns and a bridge leads them past the upper part of the stream. The bridge and the trail beyond, as they near the end, is wider, the trees more sparse. Now here's a spot where they can hold hands and walk together—something that, it occurs to him, they've not taken the opportunity to do on this trip yet. He steps up to Taylor’s side and takes his hand. "This is nice," he says.

"God." Taylor stares out at the view and it's—this is why they're fighting. Why they're training. To preserve pockets of peace like this and hopefully get them spread around. It's amazing is what it is and he has to stop and stare for a long moment at the falls. Drew coming up to take his hand jolts him out of it enough that he's somewhat startled, but he curls his fingers in turn without saying anything. "It's awesome."

Drew smiles. It had seemed like Taylor hadn't cared one way or the other about the excursion until now. "Not a lot of places like this back home?"

"Nah, man, I grew up in the suburbs,” Taylor says. “There were skate parks and shit like that, places to walk your dog but nothing like this." This is...amazing, like he said. And that they get to walk along hand in hand and not worry about anything is stupidly simple and something he didn't know he needed until now. Maybe if they do win the war they can...house, fence, two point five adopted kids, couple of dogs.

"My dad took us out in the country a few times,” Drew says. “Once he took us out in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower. Lex didn't like riding in his truck, though, she always seemed to get carsick." He walks along quietly for a moment, squeezing Taylor's hand. He doesn't really know why he's volunteering this stuff; he's not much for talking about his childhood. But of course telling Taylor these things is safe, and he's just talking about surface stuff anyway. "We never went hiking though."

"Why the sudden urge?" Taylor asks. Meteor showers—those always worried him a little back home. Could just be rocks in space; could be parts of ships burning out in the atmosphere. Probably kind of morbid to tell a little kid that when they wanted to wish on them but, well. Everyone needed a dose of reality now and then. "’Cause you've never been or ‘cause you always wanted to?" Both are pretty fair.

"I just like doing it,” Drew says. “First time I'd ever been was when I was in basic—the base was on the side of a mountain and they'd have us hike through with all our gear. I could tell there was a lot to see but I didn't have the time. So I started going when I had leave time." Nostalgia's good. He doesn't think much about the past but when he does he likes it to be good things. "I walked all over the north side of that mountain."

Taylor looks at him. "Man, I should've asked. No mountains anywhere near here, I don't think." But the ridge is good. The falls, the lake, the path that winds and weaves. "This is probably cake to you." Technically cake to both of them, but he never really made a habit to wander around in the woods for fun. Cities, sure. Make a practice of tailing people just to brush up on his skills

"Yeah, it is,” Drew says, “but like I said, I don't want to spend our time climbing rocks. Something simple and easy was all I wanted."

Taylor nods. "We went camping I think...god. Schedules never really lined up much when I was younger but we went to a lake, once. I think I was eight. Half the time they were calling back to work for something or other so I got to paddle around on my own. Wasn't that big of a lake so it wasn't that hard. Learned to fish there. And to scale fish, clean them. And how to burn them." Never been able to cook, this one.

Drew smiles gently at Taylor's reminiscing. "Cooking over a fire?"

"Attempting and failing to cook,” Taylor replies. “Even with my dad watching—he looks away and it burns. I am not meant to be a chef. Assembly, though, that I can do. I make a mean sandwich. And salad. Nothing that involves heat, though." College was fun. So many sandwiches. So. Many.

"I had to teach myself to cook. Got pretty creative with stuff sometimes." Drew glances away. It was funny sometimes how a person could actually remember bad times fondly.

"I never really had to,” Taylor says. “Protein bars and takeout." Quite a bit. "Or I'd just crash at someone else's place and they'd feed me."

"It's a good skill to have. It's a lot cheaper than going out all the time, too." They reach the car and Andrew pops the trunk to put the cooler in it, untangling his hand from Taylor's.

"I've tried,” Taylor says. “I can do the cutting bit and the stirring bit and the measuring and pouring things just fine but if you leave me alone with food and a heat source shit is going to go horribly, horribly wrong." He doesn't know why. It's a curse or something. Taylor sidles on by, settling into the passenger seat of the car again.

Drew settles into the car. "It's nice to know when you'll be getting fed, though. Without having to cook it, I mean. And the food in the Project isn't too bad." Not until it's getting close to time to pick up provisions, anyway.

"Yeah,” Taylor says. “Apparently we get produce a little more often than the average UNSC ship. I think. Or Niner's jerk'n my chain."

Drew shakes his head, amused. Programming the autopilot to take them to the theater takes next priority. "Maybe I'd be able to teach you to cook one day," he says as he punches in the commands. "It's just like anything—like your puzzles. It just takes practice."

"You are gonna have to watch me real close, okay? I don't know what I do but everything burns. Everything. I burned water, Drew. Water." Boiling water. He _still_ doesn't know how he did it.

"That's what I'll do then," Drew replies. Really, he learned to cook as a preteen, it couldn't be that hard.

The drive to the theater is a warm and cozy one. Taylor, on a roll, tosses out anecdotes about basic, his previous squad, and some snippets from his childhood till they hit the theater. The movies available are all pretty standard. Drama, romantic comedy (something he likes to watch and mock), fantasy, buddy cop movie, crime drama. A few he sort of takes out of the running due to the content—they deal with enough violence on the job, no need to fill up on that on leave. It leaves the fantasy whatever-the-hell-it-is and the romantic comedy. "Which would you like to see?" He's good with either. Any of them, really.

"Why don't you choose?” Drew asks. “I think you're more into movies than I am."

Damnit. Part of not thinking while on leave is not choosing. "I'm good with either, man,” Taylor says. “They all look pretty good to me."

"So pick one," he says, giving Taylor a little nudge and a smirk. Yeah, he's noticed York's whole thing where he's letting North have his way in everything and he feels like that needs to stop.

"..." Fine. He'll pick. He rummages around in his pocket for a quarter and flips it because that is how little he cares about what they see. It's more the act of kicking back and being _able_ to zone out for about two hours that appeals to him. Also popcorn, but that goes without saying.

Tails it is, fantasy movie. Hurrah. "I'll pay, you go ahead and get in line for concessions."

North shakes his head, but doesn't protest. If that's all the more Taylor cared about the choice then it didn't matter. "All right, Tay."

Taylor pays. He's got…well, he's got enough for the rest of the week. Fun times. Leave time! Everything's fine. He slides in after Drew and hooks his arms around his waist, in public, to lean against him for a second while they're in line. "You want anything other than popcorn?"

"Nah. Whatever you want is fine. I'll pay." Drew hates spending money at movie concessions, but if Taylor’s used to having popcorn at the movies then he can have his popcorn.

"You don't have to," Taylor says. This is all in his budget. Kind of. Sort of. Ish. "I got this."

"Taylor..." He pats at Taylor's waist. "It's one bag of popcorn."

"...okay." Why do these lines always move so damn slow? Plenty of time to stare at the rest of the junk food and wonder at how long it's been since it was restocked. "Medium should be more than enough to split."

"Sounds good to me." It does take another ten minutes but they reach the front of the line and North orders the popcorn. Finding a set of seats doesn’t take long and they settle in right as the previews begin.

The chairs are like every chair in every theater ever. Just vaguely uncomfortable. Taylor shifts and settles, hand dropping down to curl in Drew's as he waits for the lights to dim. It's...different, seeing with only one eye. He has to turn his face just a little to catch what's going on, most of the time, but it's not all bad.

The film has an expansive setting and there's a lot of worldbuilding that's thrown at them in the first few minutes. Drew’s paying attention, but the story itself is slow to pick up momentum. It's all right though, it's all okay. It's something completely different from what they have back on the ship. He reaches his hand into the bag of popcorn and plucks out a few.

The biggest problem for him in a little theater like this is leg room. He has to angle his legs outward, leading him to invade Taylor's footroom with one leg.

Maybe they should've gotten seats near the side so Drew could stretch out. Taylor's never had that kind of problem and slumps comfortably, munching on the odd handful of popcorn. Drew's leg knocks into his and he doesn't miss a beat, sliding his foot out of the way without question. Big guy, small theater, it's gonna happen. He doesn't mind that, or sharing the arm rest.

Toward the end Andrew's finally getting invested in the protagonist and in his quest. Too bad it took so long. This isn't typically his kind of thing. As the lights come up over the credits he stands to stretch a bit.

The ending wasn't half bad, Taylor thinks. Bittersweet, sure, but the quest was completed and most everyone lived. He could get behind that kind of ending. Taylor slides up after Drew, popcorn long since finished, rolling out his neck and shoulders. "These chairs are never comfortable enough for the whole two hours."

"It wasn't half bad, though." Drew starts making his way down the aisle to the exit. "What do you think, get back and dress for dinner?"

"Where would you like? Steak, pizza, or sushi?" There's an Italian place too, but they get pasta-esque stuff plenty.

"The sushi," Drew says. "Though maybe we'll do steak sometime later in the week, too." Two dinners out was plenty for him.

"I think you'll like it. All the fish is fresh, apparently." Yes, he’d read reviews and—It was recon. For the perfect leave. That might have been a thing. "I'll have to scrub up before we go, though. Still feel a little salty from the hike."

"Me, too,” Drew says.

"Good hike, though," Taylor offers with a smile, rolling out his shoulders. It'd been a long walk and he can tell his legs are gonna be a little sore, but it's not that bad. Nothing a good soak at the end of the day can't fix.

The drive to the hotel wasn't far and soon enough they were riding in the elevator up to the second floor to get to their room. "Dibs on first shower,” Taylor says. It won't take him near as long as it will Drew.

"Fine with me." He lets Taylor open the door to their room and goes in after him.

Soap, shampoo, and toothbrush in hand York strips on the way to the shower, leaving his clothes in a pile by the door. He'll take care of it later. Water on high and hot he gives himself a quick scrub down so he won't use all the hot water. Rinses off, gels up his hair, does his teeth, and walks out in under ten minutes with a towel around his waist. "Your turn."

In the meantime Drew closed the curtains and gathered up York's dirty clothes, setting them on the top of the neat pile he'd made on the couch earlier. He lined their shoes up in a row by the door and got out his toiletries. By the time York exits the shower he's ready to go in himself. "That was quick," he remarks, getting undressed and setting his clothes on the pile.

"Didn't wanna use up all the water." Oh, North had taken care of the mess. That was cool of him. York makes a mental note to return the favor somehow and steps aside, brushing by Drew on the way to his bag. He's got a few nice outfits but he's not sure HOW nice they're getting.

"I'll be out quick too," he says, and drops a kiss on Taylor's forehead before heading into the bathroom. He returns several minutes later in the nude, having hung his towel up after using it.

Taylor's towel is folded over a chair and he himself is half dressed. Black slacks on, dress shoes, and he's staring between a dark blue button down and a dark red one, not sure what Drew would like on him more. "Hey."

Drew chuckles a little to see him. "Dressing up, huh?" That deserves a kiss.

"It's an actual in public date, right?" Taylor looks over his shoulder, grinning into the kiss. "Which color do you like more on me?"

"Mm... The red, I think." Drew rubs his hand behind his ear. "You're going to be more dressed up than me."

"Not by much." Taylor starts pulling the shirt on, buttoning it up. "I don't have a coat or tie or anything."

"I just didn't realize you were planning anything where we'd dress up," Drew says. Luckily he had packed khakis and a black polo shirt which would have to do. He pulled them out and started to dress.

"I thought it'd be better to have something on hand in case we wanted a date night." Taylor finishes buttoning up his shirt and walks over, tugging at Drew's collar. "You look good."

Drew puts his hand on Taylor's side. "You look better." He's not self-conscious, it's just true.

"Well, I am the pretty one." Taylor turns to press his lips against Drew's. "And you're the sexy one."

"I know, I know. I put all the other Freelancers to shame." At least that's the way Taylor sees it, which is what counts, Drew thinks.

"Your milkshake brings all the feds to the yard." Taylor snorts and lets his hands drop down to Drew's hips. "It's perfect."

Drew laughs. "You've seen how they flock around me," he says. He bends to touch his forehead to Taylor's. "I don't care about anyone else's opinion on it but yours."

"’Cause you're awesome and you're nice to them," Taylor says. And yet he's the one that gets this. He'll worry about it later. Right now? he's just gonna enjoy it. "My opinion says you're the best looking man in town. Come on, if we get there in the next ten I think we'll hit happy hour which means good sushi for less money."

"Sounds good." Drew leads the way to the car and the autopilot gets them there easily. The restaurant is bustling, full of customers, and they get seated at a small table with two chairs. Andrew picks up the menu and peruses it for a couple minutes. "I have no idea what I'm looking at," he finally admits.

The table's small enough that Taylor sad been able to curl a foot around Drew's underneath while he peered at the options. It's a pretty good spread. "There are two kinds of sushi,” he says. “The little hand rolls with a slice of fish on top, and then the rolls that have the fillings and the rice and the nori and come sliced up in bite sized pieces. Looks like they also do udon and stuff if you wanna try that." Still, he flips through until he finds something simple. "For your first time I'd recommend getting a roll. The little hand rolls are more about tasting the purity of the fish or something and that's good, but the big rolls have more flavors in them. You like crab?"

"I don't actually know." Drew rubs his forehead. "What about this—the dinner for two. Sounds like it has a variety of both."

"The love boat?" Taylor snorts a soft laugh. "Yeah you know what? Let's do that. We get two special rolls with it. Let's get a California roll, that's cucumber, crab, and cream cheese. Almost everyone loves that one. And...shaggy dog. It's got shrimp in it."

"Hey, it's the best deal that I can see," Drew says. Which is always a priority for him, especially when the prices look like these.

"Fresh fish, man. But we did get here in time for the lower price. You want hot tea or some sake or something?" Their server should be swinging by sometime soon.

"The tea, I think." When the server arrives they order as planned and the menus are taken away. North rubs his foot against York's. "I think we're going to want to stay in tomorrow. Don't you?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice." Just them, the room, and relaxing together. Drew can read, Taylor can sleep, they could screw or soak in the tub, normal, relationship stuff. "It is so nice to be off that ship."

They'd be back there soon enough. Three more days after this one. That isn't that long. "We'll make the most of it," Drew says.

Three days to sleep in a real bed, to not worry about alerts or fighting or— Well. Anything. That's enough for Taylor. He loves his job, but a man needs a break. "We made the most of today. That hike was more fun than I thought it'd be."

"Was it?" The server returns with the tea, pot and all, and North pours himself a cup when they're alone again. "You did want to go, right?"

"I don't hike much and it was something you wanted to do. I had fun." The alternative was stay at the room and sleep without Drew and that kind of defeated the purpose of taking their leave together.

"Well, good." Drew takes a drink of his tea. "If there's something you'd like to do day after tomorrow, don't be afraid to tell me."

"Maybe go dancing for a bit in the evening? Don't wanna do that on the last day; I'd rather have another day in to just relax with you." Do things, chill a day. Do things, chill a day. He can get behind that.

North shoots York a small smile. "Sounds nice." Hopefully they didn't have to dress up for that, though. This was the only outfit he had with him that would work.

"The club here's pretty chill,” York says. “More relaxed than the one on Casbah." Which they never talk about because reasons.

No, they don’t. Things had been utterly wild and out of control that night. "It wasn't just that, it was all of us egging each other on,” North says.

"That was half the fun,” York says. “Half the fun here is just...being with Drew.

"Three-quarters," Drew counters, laughing. "That was enough of that to last me a good while, though. I hadn't done anything that stupid since I was sixteen."

"Really. I'd have thought you'd never have done anything that crazy before." The sushi boat arrives just in time to keep the thought in Taylor's mind. He plucks up a slice of fresh tuna and nibbles on it. "So tell me more. What kinda stuff did you get up to as a kid?"

Andrew seems to consider the question, the smile softening, as he picks up his chopsticks and gives a cursory attempt to pinch them together. "I don't know, how far back do you want me to go?"

"...how far back does crazy shit like Casbah go?" Taylor asks. Because that's kind of curious, how there's no one point that Drew can think of right off the bat.

"Nothing measures up to Casbah." Which is a cop-out of an answer, he knows. "Well...there was this one time when this guy we were riding with somewhere decided to steal a construction barrel, you know, those orange ones? There wasn't room in the trunk to take it and hide it so we threw it through the back windshield. Well, then there wasn't room for South in the backseat and she didn't want to sit in my lap so I ended up driving even though I didn't have my license."

"Oh god." Taylor’s trying to think of a way to visualize that and he just...can't. Little Drew doing what he just described. "Where did he end up if you were driving?"

"With South in his lap. Which was not my favorite thing especially when they started making out but we were all pretty tipsy, so..." He gives Taylor a rueful look. "Anyway, yeah. I had my lip ring then too, if you were wondering."

"Wow." Okay, Taylor needs a moment because that's worse than thinking of just the insanity. "...All right, I'm biased, but the idea of you with a lip ring is really, really sexy. Did you have dyed hair like South does?"

"No, I never dyed it. It would get kind of long between cuts though. Cheaper that way." He's been fiddling with his chopsticks this whole time and failing miserably at using them, but Taylor's been using his hands, so he follows suit and picks up one of the rolls.

God, Taylor thinks. Drew with a lip ring. And long hair. "...do you have photos of yourself back then because. Um. Wow. That's the teenage bad boy kind of deal I had a really big crush on in high school."

"Nothing I can get to." He sits back and looks at Taylor, blank-faced. "I suppose I could try to get one of my parents to send some. I wouldn't count on it though."

"I'll just have to use my imagination," Taylor says. Because the whole parents thing seems...like a sore subject.

"Probably," Andrew replies.

Taylor watches his face. "...You don't talk about them much."

Drew sighs and takes another bite of something before responding more thoroughly. He's talking a little more quietly, not really meeting Taylor's gaze. "I was twelve when my dad started driving truck. Over-the-road trucking, gone for a week or more at a time. My mom..." He pauses and rubs at his cheek. He supposes it's good to be able to trust his boyfriend enough to tell him these things, but it didn't make it easier in the reliving what he's telling. "Mnn, you're heard the term 'functioning alcoholic'?" he asks. "That's about the time she quit being so functional."

Taylor had known it wasn't the best by inference, how South and North pretty much take care of and talk about each other to the exclusion of their parents. He didn't expect...this, though. Dad working all the time, he got that, same story for him. But his mom had worked, too, not fallen headfirst into a bottle. Distant, sure, but the potential for bad shit really kicks off when booze is involved. Damn. Without the words that fit or any real frame of reference he reaches over to lay his hand on Drew's, squeezing. "That must have been rough."

"It just was. It was what it was." Drew looks at Taylor and licks his lips. "I did what I could do and that's all I could do, you know? And sometimes since I was young and impulsive I did stupid shit. But I outgrew that."

"Stupid shit like a lip ring or stupid shit like stealing a barrel?" There's more that Drew's not saying. Taylor doesn't wanna push but at the same time he wants to know more about Drew. What makes him tick. How he ended up the way he did.

"I don't have anything against piercings. That one just wasn't for me." North pauses to take a bite, and contemplates York's question while he chews. "Don't get me wrong, I did what I had to. I went to school, took care of things at home where I could. It just ended up being a lot of stress. So now and then I had to decompress."

"I never had that kind of reason for kicking up trouble back home," Taylor says. And that's what it is: a reason. Not an excuse. He did shit because he felt like it—not because he had a kid sister he had to raise and a mom to mind and school to keep on top of— "Goddamn that must've been so much pressure."

"Taylor—" He huffs out a sigh and looks down, shaking his head, then raises his gaze to York's. "Like I said, it was what it was." He taps his foot against Taylor's...not exactly a nervous gesture, but it does betray a minor measure of anxiety. "South has a different nature from me. I had to be a certain way for both of us to make it through. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do,” Taylor says. “I’m just— You ever wanna talk about it, I'm here. You know?"

"Sure." But York's unlikely to hear much more unless he asks. North just doesn't talk about himself much, especially when it comes to recounting that segment of his life.

Taylor gives Drew's hand one more slow squeeze before grabbing another bite of sushi. Food. Food is neutral enough. "And if there's ever anything you wanna ask? Go ahead. Open book, here." Not something he offers most people. Sure he talks a lot about home and life and where he's been, what he's done, but most of it is just bullshit.

A smile grows on Drew’s face. "Did you ever do anything as stupid as what I just told you?"

"Aw geeze, what kinda crazy stupid shit _haven’t_ I done? You know what happens when you give a kid that knows how to crack holographic locks too much free time and too little common sense? You kinda get a rapsheet." A long one.

Drew laughs. "I should have known, I suppose." He pauses to select another roll from the plate. "How did you end up enlisting?"

"Well, I didn't have the scores to get into an engineering school, and they mentioned something about dusting some stuff off my record so...I signed on. It was rough but it needed doing and there are things I wish I'd done better, yeah, but I don't really regret it." Or signing on with the Project.

They're coming to the end of the platter so North picks up his napkin and wipes his mouth with it. "Did you want to stop at the liquor store on the way back?" He might feel a little more open to talk about his own life after a couple glasses of something and some privacy.

"Yeah. What are you in the mood for?" Normally Tay’s good with whiskey or a good rum but if it's to loosen Drew up? It's his call.

"Some gin sounds good," Drew says.

"We'll grab some gin on the way home,” Taylor says. “Sounds like a good way to end the evening." The tab comes and he tries to snag it before Drew can see.

Drew raises his eyebrows at the way Taylor snatched it up. "I'm paying for the gin, by the way," he says with a bump to Taylor's ankle.

"If you insist." It's— Okay a little less than he'd thought. Benefit of getting the simple rolls. He puts down his card for it and scrawls out his signature and tip. After that they're up and ready to head out.

"I do." Driving to the liquor store is once again a simple matter with the navigation system in the car, and after picking up their bottle of gin and getting some ice from the ice machine they're ready to head back to their room.

"So..." Taylor pops off his shoes once they're inside, moving them out of the way. He undoes a few buttons of his shirt as he drops to the bed. "Childhood."

The kitchenette had been restocked with fresh paper cups while they were away, so North puts ice in a couple and fills them with gin before coming to where York was sitting. "You're hoping to hear more, huh?"

"Anything you're comfortable with telling, yeah. The life and times of Drew kind of seem interesting to me. It's almost like I love you or something." He knocks his knee against Drew's, taking the gin to sip.

"You might have to ask questions; I don't really know what to say." He takes a drink and scoots closer to York, letting their hips touch.

"What'd you do for fun as a kid, where'd you hang out, what were your friends like?" Shit like that. The basics. Taylor tips against Drew, cheek nestled against his shoulder.

Andrew smiles faintly at the contact. It's nice and cozy right now. "Well, it was the inner city, you know, so we just kind of hung out wherever we ended up. Friends' apartments or the playground or the basketball court. Basketball would have been a big one for me if it hadn't been for the gangs. I wouldn't join a gang, that much I was smart enough about." He pauses to take a drink and leans right back into Taylor. "My friends? They were all a lot like that guy I told you about at the restaurant. He was kind of more extreme about it, but we all got into trouble."

"Were you always hugantic or did that kick in post puberty?" Taylor asks. If Drew was always tall that explained the basketball. Every group of kids had their one huge friend they kept around for games like that.

Drew holds the bottle out to offer it to York. "I was always a little taller than everyone, yeah."

"You more of a layup or a slam dunk kinda guy?” Taylor asks. “Me, I played soccer." Everyone did. Soccer leagues were kind of a thing.

"When I got the chance to play?” Drew says. “Slam dunks, all the way. We didn't own a ball, though."

"What would you use?" Taylor asks, curious.

"Someone else's ball. When we got the chance. Like I said, the gangs mostly hung out on the courts and kept anyone else from playing." Which was probably unfathomable to York.

"Why would they do that?” Taylor asks. “I mean, that's one way to recruit people, but it's also really shitty." Seriously. Kids just wanna play. Why fuck around with that?

Drew shrugged. "That's just the way it was. We found other things to do." He took the bottle from Taylor to take another drink and lowered his head against Taylor’s shoulder. "Ask me about something else."

"How'd you do in school?" Classes, stuff like that. Taylor had done all right, but he knew test scores weren't the most important thing when it came to signing on to the military. He tucks an arm around Drew, nosing against his hair.

"I got a lot more serious about school when I got old enough to work,” Drew says. “I don't know, something about it made me realize I needed to have an exit plan. I didn't want to end up in the same situation my parents were in. Lucky for me my grades weren't too bad before that. As long as they went over it in class I learned it." He had a good memory like that.

"How'd you end up sniping?" Taylor knows even now it's more than just good eyes and steady hands, there's a lot of calculations to run. Guns and HUDS help but it always boils down to the sniper in the end.

"The usual way, I think. I got recommended for sniper school by my sergeant. Did really well in it. They actually don't look for good marksmen when they recruit for it—they look for patience and persistence. The fact that I was a good marksman was just a bonus."

"I don't think I've ever seen you miss a shot." Not any shot he'd needed to make, at least. It's sort of supernatural. Or he's just never around when North fucks up, both are likely.

Drew laughs. "That's the way you build up a good image. Don't let people know about the ones you miss. Not that I ever miss," he adds, teasing.

"Up till recently I tried to do the same with locks." Kinda hard now that he's down one eye, but he managed to keep his score and his reputation up. "Even when I got in trouble back home, petty shit, as a kid? Couldn't keep me in the cells. They'd walk me in, I'd smile and wave on my way back out."

"I can just see you doing it, too,” Drew says.

"Mm-hmm. By the time I hit eighteen they didn't bother arresting me anymore. Which was good since I'd be tried as an adult. And I quit doing that kinda stupid stuff anyway." Wouldn't look good for someone going into the military.

Drew hums a little and decides to cap off the bottle of gin and set it on the side table. "Let's lie down."

Taylor finishes his glass and sets it aside, sliding up to the headboard. "Sure. C'mere?" It's not exactly chilly but he always felt better tucked up nice and warm against Drew.

Drew follows suit, putting out an arm for Taylor to have space to curl up by his side. "I have a feeling your memories are a little more rosy than the reality was."

"Could be." Taylor slides in, slotting neatly against Drew's side. Guys he dates end up being not quite so big so it's on one hand odd to fit so well, and on the other? Awesome. "Or maybe I'm just that loveable."

"I'm sure that's what they put on their records. 'Subject was too adorable to arrest.'" Drew snickers and nuzzles against Taylor's hair.

"I have it on good authority that was the case," Taylor says. Then again his mother probably wasn't the most honest when it came to that.

Drew closes his eyes. "Mm-hmm." It's been a long day; some cuddling is nice but pretty soon he’s liable to fall asleep.

"Go ahead and get some sleep, it's been a long day," Taylor says. Crazy long. At least for him, he wasn't ever up this long at a stretch this early.

Drew squeezes Taylor a bit. "We should get undressed."

"Mmm? Oh, right." Don't pass out in the nice clothes. Taylor untangles himself and slides off the bed, unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

Drew stays where he is, pulling his shirt over his head and wiggling out of his khakis, dropping them along the side of the bed. Then he pushes the edge of the duvet down from beneath him and slips his legs underneath. "You going to join me?"

There's half a second when Tay considers making a strip tease of it, but it passes. He's tired, Drew's tired, no need to play around. He hangs his shirt on the back of a chair, shucks off his slacks to do the same and slides up the bed to nestle against his side again. "Mm-hmm."

"I had a feeling you would." Drew turns on his side and wraps Taylor with his arm. "I don't think we're going to have sex tonight," he mumbles.

"S'awright. We can stay in all day tomorrow and have as much as we want." He nuzzles into Drew's shoulder. "I'm good with just this. Seriously."

Drew hums out a sigh, letting his breathing slow, and the last thing he's conscious of as he drifts off is the comfort of their position—the softness of the sheets, the warmth of the bed, and the scent of his lover.


	11. Chapter 11

After that first day the rest of their leave had been exactly what they'd hoped for. They'd mostly spent the following days resting, tangled up in one another on the bed or the couch, reading or watching programs together or talking or simply _being_. This was the final day of leave, and after they had breakfast and checked out of the hotel they had plans to explore the shops in town and have lunch together. Then they'd be forced to make their way back to the spaceport separately.

They'd packed the night before—North had insisted, that way they'd be sure they didn't forget anything in a last-minute rush—and they took their bags down with them to the restaurant to have breakfast. Sitting side-by-side, taking their time, and doing their best to pretend that this wasn't coming to an end this soon.

York had taken care of the tab for the most part. Handled as much of the food that Drew would let him get away with covering. Got most of the actual payment for the room handled because this was kind of his anniversary present for North. Even if they hadn't called it dating when they started it's kind of what they were doing so. Happy Leave/Anniversary and all that. And it's perfect. All of it, every last second is absolutely perfect. Which is why he should've seen the polite cough that comes at his elbow coming.

Servers are never as discreet as they could be when it comes to handing back a card that was declined. Ever.

York's face goes bright red as he pats himself down for his wallet because no, that should be good, he had enough—he'd had to have had enough.

North pulls his own wallet out and hands the server his card. "Here," he says, "just put it on mine." He keeps his eyes on the man as he starts to walk away, then turns his gaze on York. He doesn't say anything, just looks at him.

York is, meanwhile, glaring down at the bill and wondering what the hell happened. He was good. He'd counted every credit and saved and scrimped and borrowed and stolen over the past few months to have enough to make this amazing and now this last meal is just—what. Two credits over? Three? It doesn't make sense and the longer he doesn't look up the more he wants to shrink down and vanish.

Sadly, no active camo here. He clears his throat and dares to look up and—

Oh no. Dadface. Full on dadface. Fuck his life. "...Guess I miscalculated."

"I think that's pretty clear." North's tone of voice is dry; he's glad, though, that York didn't try posturing about how the card company made a mistake. At least he's willing to own up to his error.

North pulls his COM pad out to open his finance app and enter in the charge for the meal. "Is there still a balance on the room?"

Dad face and dad voice. He's usually spared both due to South being bitchy at someone that didn't earn it or Wash goofing off when he shouldn't or Florida being too cheerful in the morning or something and this just isn't—

The room. Oh god how much left is on the room. "...Just this last night and the additional tax."

Which could be anything to a little sales tax to whatever the hell they felt like tacking on because who's going to argue about it when they have to leave? Aw christ. He's already flinching and glowering down at his COM pad, looking at the tiny little line blinking away stating that yes, Agent York, you are broke. So broke. Grovel to your boyfriend to handle the room.

"I can cover it. I guess we'll call it an even split since you covered so much this week." Though North has a feeling even then, York's paid more on the bill for the room than anything North covered even with the car rental on his side of the ledger.

North's card is returned to him then and he slides it into his wallet, not wasting a moment in rising and grabbing the strap to his duffel. "Come on, then." Wallet still in hand, he slings the bag over his shoulder and starts for the front desk.

York has and York's not gonna say a damn thing. He knows how North gets about money. In so much that he doesn't like over spending and monitors his account carefully. It's a habit that comes from growing up with little probably as much as York's carelessness comes from growing up without having to worry. But when he does? There is so much to worry about.

He swallows the last of his cold coffee and his pride and shoves out of the chair, duffle on his shoulder. Just gonna shuffle to the front desk and hope to god it's not too much.

North gives the attendant the room number, explaining that he will be covering the last of the expenses. He's given the itemized bill on a datapad and scrutinizes it with a frown. He'd had a feeling, with as expensive as this place was, that it may try to tack on a few extra charges, and there they are in black and white. So of course he protests them, because there's no way he's going to pay a dime more than what he should for this extravagance of a room that York picked out for them. At one point he threatens to go up to the room with the manager and examine the couch for the red wine spot the hotel claims was left on it, but eventually they're able to settle the bill without the fees.

"We didn't even drink red wine," York mutters as he peers around North to look at the chart. When had they had their clothes laundered? He did not remember signing on for that service, but there it is. Along with a—what the hell is a 'sound compliance' charge? They weren't THAT loud! They cleaned up after themselves and honestly some of these charges were fucking bullshit and he's glad North is arguing the point because honestly he would've just given his card over to be done with it.

"...So they charge out the nose and try to wring _more_ money out of us after? This is what I get for picking somewhere nice." Good thing North has no tolerance for that bullshit.

North hushes York with a hand and finishes negotiating the charges with the clerk. Then he leads the way to the car and pops the trunk. It's not until after their bags are both safely stowed inside and the two of them get into the vehicle that he speaks. "I knew that room was expensive as soon as we stepped foot in it. Taylor, you need to leave room for error when you plan an expense. And for emergencies. You're pretty fortunate I was able to cover everything."

Is it too late to duck and roll and walk the fifty miles back? He could probably make it in time but he'd be exhausted and North would only be more angry with him that he'd bailed out on an 'important conversation about personal responsibility' which, yeah, he gets he fucked up. He will own that he fucked up. He will apologize for fucking up. He does not need a lecture, like North is his father or some bullshit, about how he'd fucked up and how to not fuck up in the future.

"When I planned out what I was willing to spend for this trip I automatically called half of my savings off limits. For me half the balance was my zero. Deciding to get this car rental was after deciding how much of that half I was willing to spend. I could have covered the car and half of our meals and it wouldn't have dipped into the other half. But now I am into the other half, York. To me that's below my zero. But you know, it turns out okay because I accounted for the unexpected to come up."

Arguing never did anything but leave people upset so York does as he has always done. Checks out mentally, keeps his eyes on the road, and nods in the appropriate pauses. It's a skill he's mastered over the years. Smile. Nod. Look contrite. Argument? Avoided. At least until he's called on it but most people don't bother, happy that they've gotten to say their peace and put him in his place.

North’s been driving this whole time, rather than letting the autopilot handle it, needing something to keep his concentration on while he speaks. But several minutes of nothing but silence from York convinces him to set the autopilot and look over at him for a long moment. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yessir." Mostly. To the shape of the words and the overall tone of the lecture that's been rewritten to the tune of ‘You done fucked up York and here's all the ways in which you are an irresponsible adult and that's just unreasonable and you need to get your shit together because gosh you might actually survive this war when it ends and then what will you do?’

Which isn't something he's ever really planned through. Not that he expects to die but the survival rate of soldiers on the front line whenever they get to be put on the front line, isn't too good. So he lives day to day. Saves what he needs for something he might have never even survived to see. And sure, he had to dig up a loan from North, because if North thinks he can drop that 'below my zero' line and not get paid back he's fucking crazy, but it'll be fine. He had a credit card on him with a few hundred left that he hadn't used, he would've put that down.

None of this is on his face. It's all blank, vaguely pleasant contrition. "I hear you."

North presses his lips into a line. "You don't seem to care." If this had been his sister she would be arguing back at him but instead York's just...sitting there, nodding.

"Manage my finances better. Don't put other people in position to pull me out of the hole. I got it." Crystal clear on that count. Drop the subject, let the leave end on a high note. They've got a decent drive ahead of them.

North's eyebrows go high and he rubs his hand against his forehead before replying. "Wow. You could at least pretend that you give a shit about what just happened. I'm glad to do it, don't get me wrong, I sure am happy I was able to bail you out, but I think you need to think about what happens when you inconvenience other people." And until he hears an apology he's really not sure that York cares all that much about having done it.

"Do you want groveling? Wailing and gnashing of teeth? I fucked up. I did not mean to fuck up. I would like to move on from the fact that I fucked up. This isn't new, you know me, you've known me for years." So why is this sort of reaction suddenly a surprise? "I'm sorry you had to bail me out. I hadn't planned on it. Thought I had my shit together, I didn't, my bad." Apparently he's also an inconvenience and he'll just tuck that up along every other frustrating thing he's heard over the past few months. Save it, burn it off later in sparring or use it to keep him going when he's exhausted. That's about all they're ever good for, anyway.

"I didn't want groveling, just some acknowledgement." The autopilot chimes for North to take over the wheel and park; he does so, spinning the wheel as he parallel parks in a spot in front of a little souvenir shop. "Thanks for apologizing," he finally finishes once they're parked.

"You're welcome." He is not pouting. He isn't. Space Marines don't pout. He's grumpy because he's broke, that's all. "Anything else?” Since they’re talking about way's he's fucked up. Might as well get it all out since there's no saving today.

"We can talk about the rest later." How much or whether York would be paying him back was a topic that could wait until they were back to the ship.

"Whatever you say." Because York’s thoughts on the matter, clearly, don't matter.

North shuts the engine off and looks at York for a moment, tilting his head slightly. "Unless you want to say something," he says.

"I'll pay you back when I can." That's all that there is left to say. He doesn't look at North so much as gaze vaguely in the direction of his torso.

"Yeah. We can work out details on that when we're back." He pulls the keys out of the ignition and pockets them. They have a couple hours blocked out to simply hang out on the little town's main street before North has to take York to the bus station. He's hoping they'll still be able to have fun doing that. It's not shopping for the sake of shopping, since they can't really buy souvenirs. It's just an excuse to waste time being together.

"Sure." Out of the car. Stand up. Pull on his coat. All's well. "Think I see a snow globe specialty shop at the end of the street. Does it even snow on this planet?"

North gets out as well, makes his way around the car to the sidewalk. Stands by his boyfriend who he is definitely not irritated with right now. "Probably somewhere." Taking York's remarking on the shop as a hint he starts to walk leisurely in that direction. The smell of fresh-roasted nuts wafts their direction from a shop across the street. On this side, a store filled with hand-crafted wooden puzzles and knick-knacks is followed by one selling stained-glass panels and quilts.

Oh god nuts. Fresh nuts. York gnaws on the inside of his cheek to avoid the urge to go grab some. He's broke. Better not tempt himself but they smell so damn good. Later. Later when he's dirtside again and has money he'll do it. For now he just. Bobs along at Norths' side, bumping their shoulders now and then. Shows there aren't any hard feelings.

Things stay quiet between them until they pass the other shops on the block and approach the snow globe shop. "You want to look around here?" North glances through the front window. It seems stupid now to look at things they don't intend to buy just as a way to waste time.

"Yeah, sure." York's never really understood snowglobes himself but his mom always had a soft spot for them. Maybe because she never really saw snow growing up. The scenes inside tend to be pretty well made in specialty shops too. So...he shrugs and slides inside, peering at the mass of flurries at the bottom of one around a ranch house.

North walked along the aisles, mostly just glancing at the snowglobes. Winter in the city on Mars was a bleak and dismal time. Snow had always been a nuisance and he'd never seen much beauty in it.

He continued to walk, finding that the back half of the store held music boxes and jewelry. He stopped before a rack of necklaces. They couldn't really buy souvenirs for themselves, because it would be proof they'd been at the same place at the same time, but a necklace for his sister was an acceptable expense. Eventually with the help of the clerk he picked out a necklace and he rejoined York once it had been boxed and bagged. "Moving on?" he asked.

The more York wanders the less tense he feels. The more he shakes off that irritation and wonders a bit at something—he'd like to nab North a thing but A) broke B) can't look like they spent too much time in the same place. It's irritating but he'll roll with that logic as long as he needs to. It's one thing to be paranoid for his own sake, but if he has to double down for North? He will. Every time. "Yeah. What's the next shop down?"

"Card store, I think," North says. A place with plenty of souvenirs and postcards to go along with the greeting cards in the racks.

"Should probably pick something up, write to my parents." York tries to send actual paper cards when he can. "Mom likes to keep them in a book or something."

North nods and starts for the card store. "We'll take a look around."

York bumps North with his shoulder, then his elbow, then taps their hands together. Maybe handholding? Maybe.

North glances over at him before turning his hand to accept York's hand in his. He's still a bit annoyed but that's continually fading with the passage of time.

It's nice to have that point of contact again. It feels a little like being forgiven. York brushes his thumb across North's knuckles.

Once they reach the door of the shop North lets go of York's hand to open the door for him. He enters once York's gone through and wanders to a spinning rack of postcards. It's funny, for all that people consider him to be the thoughtful one, the nice one, how little desire he has to pick something up to send his parents. He figures he might as well, though—they're here, after all. Seems like the thing to do. He checks over three sides of the rack before he comes across one that has a picture of their bed-and-breakfast on it. He picks it up and studies it before deciding to get one as a souvenir to keep.

It takes a awhile for York to find the perfect card. The right mix of honest and tacky that his mother would be able to put it on her board with the rest of them. He pulls one out, checks the colors on it and heads up to the counter. In a small rack by the register there's—it's a stupid thing. A little set of braided bracelets with engraveable charms on them. He checks over his shoulder and it looks like North's busy elsewhere. Long enough for him to make a quick etching and buy it along with the card.

In the end North puts back any postcards he was looking at. He doesn't like keeping a lot of clutter around and he knows any such souvenir he'd buy now would eventually end up being discarded. He really should have taken some pictures of the ridge when they were hiking with his COM pad; those he would have kept around forever. He resolves to look up this place on the net later and download some pictures. That would do just as well.

But he still needs to pick something to send to his parents. He studies the full rack again, though he's perused each design of card already, a slight frown appearing on his face.

York purchases his gifts and tucks them into his coat pocket, sidling along up next to North and peering at the cards. "Something for home?" He didn't know North's parents but he could suggest...something. Maybe.

"Yeah. I'll just..." And he grabs two designs at random, glancing at the fronts once he's holding them, and grips them in his hand to take to the register.

York follows along, leaning against the counter once they hit the front. "They should like those."

"Yeah, they should." It really didn't matter which he chose as long as he sent something. After the cards were paid for he put them in the bag with South's necklace and led the way out of the store. He glances back at his boyfriend once they're out on the sidewalk and offers his hand again. "Find something nice?"

"Yeah, mom'll like one of the place we stayed. She thinks it's cozy. I shoulda grabbed her a rock or something when we were on that hike, she loves that stuff." He'd been so preoccupied with admiring or being admired by North it'd slipped his mind.

"You told your mom about our trip?" North says, drifting toward the corner so they can cross to the other side of the street.

"Told her I had leave with someone special, yeah." Not like he can take North to have dinner with his parents. But he can tell them about him.

"That's...really sweet." Which isn't quite what he means but he can't find the words for it. That York finds their relationship enduring enough to tell his mother about it.

"Well if there wasn't a war on and we'd met normally I'd have invited you to dinner to meet them awhile ago." But this is what he can do. York shrugs off the idea and slides his hand in North's, grinning. "You'd hate it. Neither of my parents can cook."

"I could never hate it." Once they're done crossing the street he pauses, just enough to cause York to slow down so he can press a kiss to his forehead.

"Burnt meatloaf. Powdered mash potatoes. You ever wonder why I love the food in the mess? Better than what I got back home." It's where he'd learned how to order in almost every language. Takeout and swear words.

"Doesn't stop you from complaining about it anyway," North teases. "Don't deny it, either."

"Out of love. I complain out of love!" Someone has to bitch.

"That's a new one on me," North chuckles. This side of the street seems to be mostly food shops; in addition to the nut store, there's a gourmet candy store and an ice cream shop. It's a bit soon after breakfast to indulge, yet everything in the shop windows looks good, and the smell of the nuts is enticing.

"...oh god I smell fried fat. And dough. And sugar." York doesn't know what it is, just that it smells fucking amazing. They've already eaten but...he's got enough for a treat. They don't get treats often, strict diets, all that.

North turns—oh, there's a pastry shop, too. "You want something?" Of course, if they go in, he'll be paying.

"...god, yeah." A beat, York looks back up. "You don't mind? We can split something."

North can't help smiling at York's eagerness, and he gives York's hand a little tug to start leading him into the shop. "Sure, I'll split something with you. What kind of thing are you in the mood for?"

"Oh god they have things stuffed with custard." That fluffy yellowy cream stuff that tastes like vanilla and heaven. "One of those?" His favorite thing may or may not be licking the cream out first, like a kid. Or a porn star.

"I'm not sure how easy it would be to split one of those. But I can get you one for your own." North continues to lead York until they reach the counter, then squeezes his hand.

"Thanks babe, you're the best." Anyone that promises York food is the best but they've gotten over that little financial hiccup neatly, so North is the best of the best.

"I know," North says, and gives York's hand a squeeze. He order a strawberry tart for himself and once York's picked out what he would like they're free to take their picks to the little cafe table at the front of the shop.

"And so modest too." Something North usually said about him, but turnabout is fair play, right? He picks out a custard filled thing and settles across from him, nibbling until he gets to the filling and licking it out with somewhat obscene slurps and moans.

North kind of raises his eyebrows at York as that progresses and eventually just chuckles and shakes his head. "Sorry, I'd forgotten I was dating an eight-year-old."

"s'good!" York whines, sliding a foot out to knock against North's. "You try one and see if you don't do the same."

"Maybe some other time," he says, nudging York's foot right back. He glances at the time on the wall. They have only about half an hour now before North's going to have to drive York to the bus station, and he hopes to spend some time in the car just, well, having an old-fashioned make-out session, honestly. So as soon as they're done eating he's going to rush York right along.

"Next leave." York finishes up his pastry and cleans up, following along easily enough to the car. Not a lot of time and then it's a long bus ride home and looking all grumpy and somber for having spent the whole time ruminating over his eye. Not like this. All—almost perfect. Wholly amazing.

North can't set the autopilot to take them to the bus station—the area is too close to the center of town, too many turns—so he waits until they're there and parked to reach over and take York's hand. "Weird how this feels like a goodbye when it's not."

"Gotta put everything back in the box, you know?" York sighs and leans across to nose at North's jawline. "Be best friends, not lovers."

"I know." North reaches with his free hand to run the backs of his fingers down York's cheek, nuzzling against his hair. "Sometimes I really resent having to hide."

"Damn regs. But we get leave in....three months?" Not that long. Even if a lot can happen in three months. "And you're just a few doors down."

"You know it's not the same." Ah, but York is an optimist, and North could learn a thing or two about looking on the bright side from him. He pats York's cheek. "What do you want to do the next time?"

"Whatever you want to do," York murmurs by rote before nipping at North's earlobe. "Cabin. For real this time. Somewhere with a lake so we can swim. And fish."

 _We won't be able to afford something like that after just three months._ That's what North's thinking. But he bites his tongue on saying it. No arguing, not right now. He moves his hand off York's cheek to bring it to his jaw so he can tilt York's face up and kiss him.

York doesn't worry about that. There's hazard pay and poker earnings. He's bound and determined to wring something substantial out of Maine and Wyoming over the next few months. But that's all later. Here and now is North in all his warmth and all his affection. He leans up into the kiss, sighing.

North matches the sigh after the intensity of the kiss lessens, pulling away just enough to angle his head forward and touch their foreheads together. "I love you, you know."

"Love you too, Drew." Enough that it's making him a little optimistic. Thinking about after the war instead of after the next mission. He's never really been one to plan ahead but now he finds he really wants to.

There had been no way to know how crushing this would feel, leaving York behind after such a wonderful week. It made what they usually had to do all the more difficult to endure. They kiss until York's out of time, until there's nothing for North to do but drag his fingertips off of York's as he gets out of the car, as he pulls away and leaves York behind at the bus station, watching him get smaller in the mirror, and heading back.


End file.
